


A Soldier's Doctor

by CanisLore



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanisLore/pseuds/CanisLore
Summary: I'm just a doctor, coming home from a particularly grueling shift. Then the city superhero comes crashing through my window, wounded and asking for my help.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	1. The Request

I am so tired. 

But it’s the good kind of tired. The kind that comes from a long day of work well done. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m exhausted from my particularly grueling shift.

Several patients had been admitted today; victims of a car crash. Two of them needed emergency surgery, of which I was in charge. Then one thing led to another, and I ended up staying far past my usual call time.

But my team and I saved several lives today. That’s what was important. That’s what was rewarding.

That’s what was so tiring.

I barely make the effort to kick my shoes off and take off my scrubs shirt before I flop into bed, disregarding the covers. I sleep for maybe twenty minutes, definitely not much more than my typical power nap, when I hear a resounding crash from the other side of the house.

Suddenly fearing for my safety, I grab my pistol from its drawer and load a magazine, making sure a round is in the barrel. I gently ease the door open and peek into the hall. No one in sight, but there is the faint clinking of glass shards coming from my living room.

They must have broken a window. But those windows are a full story off the ground, a result of the sloping land my house was built on. Do they have a ladder?

No matter. I hold my weapon at the ready and tiptoe toward the living room. I keep hidden behind the door for a moment before gathering the courage to step out and face whomever has invaded my home. I am going to give the whole “Freeze! I’m armed!” declaration, but the words die on my tongue when I see who it is that stands there.

I recognize the crimson and navy suit instantly. It’s Soldier, the city superhero. His suit is torn and his mask ripped. One arm hugs his ribs, weakly holding a bleeding wound, while the other arm hangs limply by his side, obviously out of joint. His legs look like they are barely holding him upright, and he trembles with exhaustion. “Doctor Conner?” he asks.

I can only dumbly nod.

He smiles at me, though I can tell it is forced through pain, “I’ve… s-seen the work you do. You do a great job of… h-helping the people I save. I… was w-wondering if this time you… could help m-me out?” He coughs, sending tremors through his weakened body and making blood drip down his chin.

His knees buckle. I holster my gun and manage to catch him before he hits the floor. “Soldier! Soldier, stay with me,” I plead with him, “I can’t carry you, but we need to get away from this glass. Can you get to the kitchen?”

“S-sure thing,” he chuckles, “And... sorry about the window. I h-have a thing for dramatic entrances at… the expense of glass panes.”

I play along to keep him awake, “It’s fine. I’m sure the city’s window installers are grateful for the extra business. They won’t run out of a job, at least.” 

Soldier starts to laugh, but it turns into a wheezing cough that sends him to the floor. I grab him by the back of his suit collar and manage to drag him the rest of the way into the kitchen. There would be more room in my spare room, but there is no way I would be able to drag him all the way over there. Sure, I’m physically fit as men go, but Soldier is a little bigger than I can handle. Superhuman physique and powers make him heavier than a normal man his same size. Helpful for beating up supervillains, but not when a doctor needs to move him.

I turn him over and begin a quick assessment of his injuries. The bleeding wound in his side is a deep slash, probably from a sword or claw. His arm is dislocated at both the shoulder and elbow. The wheezing and coughing blood can mean a punctured lung, which can equal broken ribs.

He can be wounded more, but the suit does a good job of disguising the possibility. “Soldier, I need to get your suit off. Can I cut this fabric?”

“It’s Kevlar,” he mutters.

Great. “I need to make a call.”

“Do what you need,” Soldier rasps, “I trust you.”

The declaration throws me. I shake myself back to focus and run for my Bluetooth headset. I tell the AI to call my technician, hoping that he’s prompt to pick up.

“ _ Hello, this- _ ”

I interrupt him, “Ron, it’s Doctor Conner. I’ve got an emergency, but I need you to come to me.”

“ _ What are we dealing with _ ?”

When I had run for my headset, Soldier did something to his suit that loosened the fabric; probably some kind of mental order to a technology I don’t understand. However it happened, I was able to pull the suit away and rattle off my immediate diagnoses and needed supplies to Ron.

“ _ So who’s the patient? Why haven’t you called an ambulance _ ?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, and that’s teetering on classified.”

I hear Ron scoff over the line, “ _ All right, I get it. I’ll be there ASAP _ .”

“Don’t get stopped.”

“ _ Aye, Sir _ .”

He hangs up. I rush for the meager supplies I have sitting around my house. It’s not what I’ll really need, but it’s enough to get started. I start with the slash wound, managing to stem the bleeding enough to hold out until I can stitch it. My brain silently notes that Soldier’s blood is darker than a normal human’s.

“Soldier?” I ask. The few seconds of silence make me think he’s passed out, but he then responds weakly. “Still here.”

“I’m going to put your arm back into place.”

“Don’t need my permission,” he tries to joke. I’m not amused. I honestly told him because I don’t want to risk him punching me through a wall if he reacts reflexively like that.

I grip around his dislocated elbow, feeling for the proper motion I’ll need to put it back. I make a few adjustments to my grip, then set the bones back into place.

Soldier barely flinches.

I do the same to his shoulder. Soldier clenches and relaxes his hand, apparently testing the functionality of his re-placed joints. I marvel at how calm he seems; I can imagine pain isn’t new to him, but still.

I scan the length of his body, noticing most of his injuries are concentrated along his left side. “What hit you?” I wonder aloud.

“The ground. A lot,” Soldier rasps, “Also acid of some kind.”

That explains the splotchy burns.

“And Riptile clawed me. He and the CheMIST teamed up. Heck of a duo, that’s for sure.” Again Soldier tries to laugh, but it turns into coughing that brings more blood burbling over his lips.

I lay a hand on his chest to still him, “Please stop trying to talk, you’re going to exacerbate your internal wounds.”

“‘m more concerned ‘bout the slash. Riptile tore through me. Dunno how, though. That little lizard’s never been able to before.”

Dang it, Soldier, what did I just say?

“Think CheMIST did something to strengthen his claws,” he finishes.

“Okay,” I reply absentmindedly. I don’t have a salve for the chemical burns on his legs.

I hate having to sit on my hands while Ron is on his way. I resort to assessing the broken window. The glass can be swept up off the wood floor easily enough. Though the window itself isn’t going to be too cheap. Should I try to make a claim on superhero insurance?

No, no one needs to know I am involved with Soldier. That can put me, my hospital, and my patients in danger.

Well, no one except Ron needs to know. But I trust him, and he can keep his mouth shut without me having to threaten him or something. He has this sense of honor that I respect.

Speaking of Ron, where is he? Soldier needs those supplies.

I barely finish the thought when I hear a knock on my door. I open it, ushering Ron and his questions away from the broken window to the patient on my kitchen floor.

Of course, this spawns a new slew of questions and shocked stutters. I unpack the supplies he brought before he manages to string a coherent sentence.

I have to swat him upside the head to get him to refocus, “Ron! Yes, that’s who you think it is. Yes, he’s hurt. Yes, I need your help.”

He blinks at me, “But that’s the [___]  _ Soldier _ !” he exclaims.

“Language,” Soldier mutters.

I get in Ron’s line of sight again, “He’s a patient. Just like the many others you've helped me with.”

Ron stares at me with disbelief, then glances at Soldier and the laid-out supplies. He breathes deeply. “Okay, okay. Right. Let’s do this.”

We don gloves and get to work. I task Ron with taking care of the acid burns while I prep to stitch the wound closed. It’s not an ideal environment and far from sterile, but I have to work with what and who I have.

I fill a syringe with a local anesthetic, but Soldier interrupts me. “That won’t work on me. My system burns right through pretty much every drug.”

I lower the bottle slightly, “But… I have to-”

“Doctor please, I understand what you have to do. Just do it.”

His expression is obviously pained, but also strangely calm. Unnervingly calm. In that moment, I have little doubt this man could stare Death in the face and not flinch.

With his line of work and the foes he faces, he probably does.

But the expression also calms me. Enough so that I can set down the anesthetic and pick up the curved needle to put the stitches in. I lift the edge of the bandage, pour on a sterilizing mix, try to ignore Soldier’s stomach tensing up from the pain, and thread the first of what will doubtless be many stitches.

Out of my peripheral, I see Soldier’s jaw clench and his teeth bare. His head tilts back as his hands tighten into fists.

I hate seeing people in pain. It’s the main reason I became a doctor, so I could help people stop being in pain. Long ago, I accepted the fact that my goal to stop pain would often mean briefly causing more, but I have never been forced to operate on a fully sensory-aware patient.

I put in another stitch and hope Ron can’t hear my rising pulse.

“Sir?” Ron asks, “I’ve finished with the burns. What next?”

“Pack that up and wash your hands. I might need you to help with this.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ron cleans up his supplies and makes for the special sink I have in the bathroom.

It puts him out of earshot. I start when Soldier speaks. “I’ve seen you work, Doctor,” he says, “but this is the only time I’ve heard your pulse this high.”

Great. No secrets to be kept from a hero with super hearing. Might as well be honest with him. “I’m… putting stitches in a man believed to be invulnerable.”

I can almost hear the question mark pop up over his head. “I’m… not-.... People think I’m invulnerable?”

“That is the common belief, yes.” Curse it, why are my hands shaking?

“That… makes a lot more sense,” Soldier muses. Now I hear the question mark pop up over my head, “Did you not know?”

Soldier lets out a wheezing laugh, “Not explicitly, no. I’ve always tried to not let anyone, enemies or public, see me… pained... like this. Not as to boast, understand. I need to uphold the people’s faith that I can stand back up every time. That I can protect them. If that faith falls, so does their hope and will, then my enemies truly win.”

So that’s why I’m shaking.

“But I don’t regret coming here,” Soldier states. I meet his eyes in surprise. He seems amused, “I have faith in you. I have faith in your hope and willpower. That’s why I came to you. You’re a good man, Doctor Conner. So’s that kid, Ron. He’ll make you proud when the time comes.”

I don’t understand. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” Ron asks, coming back in. I glance back at Soldier, but he’s closed his eyes again.

I shake my head and refocus. I have to do this. This…  _ god among men _ crashed into my living room and put his life in my hands.

I use that thought to bolster myself. “Nothing. Get down here. I need you to clean the wound as I go.” 

“Aye, Sir.”

The stitches start going in a bit quicker. We get perhaps halfway through, but I don’t notice Soldier’s expression until he speaks again. “Doctor, your gun is loaded, right?”

Um. “Why?”

Soldier looks toward my living room, “You might need to use it.”

Um...!

Ron hops up and heads toward the broken window. Soldier lets out a sound akin to a whimpered sob. “I’m sorry, I led it straight here.”

What?!

I pull off my gloves and wrap my hand around the hilt of my gun. Ron’s gone quiet. “Ron?” I call.

No answer.

I bring my gun to bear and step into the living room. Ron’s alive, thank the stars, but he’s frozen in place, staring at the large, grotesque creature slithering in through the window. The creature is staring him down, hypnotizing him with its bright green stare.

I fire. A bullet sinks into the reptilian shoulder. It breaks the hypnosis, letting Ron go.

“Ron, get behind me.”

He obeys without a word.

The creature is now staring me down. I force my vision to blur slightly and blink a lot, negating the effects of that wide, verdant stare. I follow the news and read about the villains in this city; this is one of Riptile’s spawn: giant, non sentient, lizard-like hunters that hypnotize prey into a frozen stupor before swallowing it whole.

It must have been sent after Soldier.

My trick to stave the hypnosis is wearing thin. I take aim and fire again, this time putting the bullet into one of those deadly eyes. The lizard flinches and hisses. Its head swings away from me for a few moments before snapping back, jaws agape.

My brain registers that it’s about to strike me with its venomous tongue, but I have little hope of dodging the nigh-instantaneous projectile.

Then Soldier is there, between me and the tongue, holding the writhing, slimy appendage.

It takes me a moment to realize he just saved me. His suit is inexplicably back over his body, and he’s standing as if uninjured.

Soldier releases the tongue and it snaps back into its reptilian owner’s mouth. Then a strange change overtakes the creature. Its remaining eye turns a violent red and a human-like cackle barks from its throat.

“ _ Sssso, SSSSoldier, thisss issss where you’ve fled tooo _ .”

The voice sends chills down my spine. I’ve only heard snippets of Riptile’s voice on the news or online clips. In-person is so much worse.

“ _ Cozzzy little placcce you’ve found _ ,” Riptile taunts, “ _ It would be a shhhame if sssomeone dessstroyed it and had a niccce sssnack of the ownersss _ .”

“You’ve been defeated today, Riptile,” Soldier declares. How does he say it without a shred of that pained exhaustion I've been hearing?

The lizard pawn laughs. Its head levels at Soldier as its tongue flicks out and talons click on the broken glass. 

I’m still holding my gun, but I’m seriously considering joining Ron to hide in a corner.

Even if I could have made it to said corner, Riptile’s pawn pounces suddenly and knocks me and Soldier over. I pick myself up quickly and again level my gun at the lizard. It laughs at me. “ _ Looksss like thisss one wantsss to be a hero _ .”

I keep my aim on that other eye, fully intending to shoot it out once the creature makes another move. It stays where it is, however, its focus on the still-downed Soldier.

“ _ You’re weak, SSSoldier _ ,” Riptile sneers, “ _ Tell me, how did the CheMIST’s little upgrade to my venom feel thisss time? Wasss it a  _ burning  _ sssucccesss _ ?”

“That’s a terrible pun,” I quip and fire again.

The zippy lizard dodges. I barely have time to utter an appropriate curse before I’m on the floor with a serrated tongue cinching around my throat. I choke for air that isn’t allowed passage to my lungs.

Soldier rips the creature off me and hurls it against the stone fireplace. He once again stands between me and his foe, his pain only evidenced by a slight tremor in his legs and beads of sweat on the back of his neck.

I can’t help but marvel.

“ _ Ssso, how did my clawsss feel when they sssplit you open _ ?”

I note that the slippery reptile is an egoistic sadist. I just finish the thought when the lizard lunges again.

Several things happen so fast, it’s not until after it was all over that I register what had happened.

Soldier had lifted off the ground and caught the lizard, letting the momentum drive the both of them to the floor. He scooped up a sizable glass shard, let his foe writhe just enough to turn over, and, now holding it in a headlock, hauled it and himself out the window. Hovering in the air, Soldier slit the lizard’s throat. He let the corpse fall to the ground with a dull, wet thud.

“Like that.” 

He glances at me. His fingers release the glass shard. He floats back in the window, the steely façade melting away. Sure, he’s done his heroic duty, witty one-liner included, but he’s still injured.

I start to say my thanks when his eyes roll up in his head and he passes out. Guess I can work on him here, then. 

I manage to coax Ron from his hiding place and get him back into the right headspace to put the pulled stitches back in and finish closing the rest of the wound. The two of us manage to lift him to the couch.

We don’t say anything about the past hour, cleaning up the medical supplies, blood, and glass in dumbfounded silence. We don’t say a word even while tossing the corpse of a mutant lizard into the dumpster.

Ron hands me a cup of some warm brew he’d conjured up and joins me in staring contemplatively at the still-unconscious Soldier. 

“So,” he lets the word hang, “We… kinda… saved the life of the city’s renowned and believed-invulnerable superhero?”

“After he crashed through my living room window with gaping wounds, fractured bones, and chemical burns,” I confirm. 

“Right. Then he saved  _ our  _ lives from a hypnotizing, man-eating, mind-controlled skink.”

“Sounds about right.” I sip my drink. Tastes good. I knock the rest of it back. Ron makes an interjecting sound, then decides to not say anything. I was probably supposed to slowly sip whatever that brew was. Eh. Whatever.

“What do you think he’ll do when he wakes up?” Ron asks.

“Dunno,” I respond, rubbing my forehead, “Probably leave.”

“That what you think he’ll do or what you  _ want  _ him to do?”

“Ron, it’s been a strange day. And I haven’t properly slept in almost twenty-six hours.”

Ron gives me a scowl, “Then go to bed. You’re not on call today, I checked.”

My doctor’s instinct reacts for me, “But-...” I gesture at Soldier.

“Doc, seriously,” Ron stares me down, “Go get some sleep. I can keep an eye on him.”

“You’re on call today,” I argue. Ron scoffs, “C’mon, we both know my station isn’t busy.”

I give him an unconvinced grunt.

“Trevor.”

I snap a glare at him. He returns with an unshaked stare. I’m not mad, though. He’s a respectful kid and doesn’t use my name as his boss flippantly. We live in a time when that kind of thing will find kids like him abruptly out of job.

He has a point, however.

I relent. Ron gives a self-satisfied smirk, which I ignore as I make my way to my room. I stick my head out the door and catch his eye, “Ron. The second he wakes up, you get me. Understood?”

Rod nods once, “Yes, Sir.”

I return the nod and let the door shut. This time I manage to properly get into casual clothes and slip under the covers. I think I fall asleep before my head fully settles into the pillow.

But I do remember wondering just what would be awaiting me when Soldier awakes.


	2. The Capture

I first notice that I’m cold.

My body feels sluggish and numb. Whatever I’m lying on is hard, my arms are heavy, and my neck feels raw.

I’m not in my bed, am I.

I force my eyes open. I see a few things at once. One is the shackles around my wrists, another is the bars.

Definitely not my bed.

It still takes a few more moments for my brain to register that I might be in danger, to which I immediately snap to awareness.

My body is still hesitant to respond to my commands of movement, but I take closer note of my situation; I’m on my side in a steel barred cage, wrists chained to a ring on the floor.

I hear a groan somewhere beyond my feet. My body begins to cooperate and I manage to get my arms under me. “Ron?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I cough and ask his name again.

No response. I continue to sit up, turning and pulling my knees under me. The tops of my bare feet rub against the rough metal. My head is spinning. My throat is locking up for some reason, as if someone had punched me in the neck.

Or… maybe strangled me.

I manage a kneeling position with my pounding head between my knees. My hands are held above my head, the rattling of the chains ringing my ears.

Questions begin to riot in my mind. What happened? Where am I? Who or what put me here? Where’s Soldier? Why wasn’t I woken up? How long have I been out? Why do I feel like I’ve been handled like a sack of potatoes? Where’s Ron? Is he okay?

The pounding in my head begins to die down. I look up and finally spot Ron on the cell floor a few paces away from me. His hands are also chained. He’s barely moving, but I call his name anyway. When he still doesn’t respond, I resort to trying to kick him, as the chains on my hands are too short to let me stand, much less reach him.

I nudge his leg a few times. Finally, he responds by curling up a bit tighter and mumbling.

“Ron!” I call. I keep my voice to a stage whisper, as I am yet uncertain if I’m being watched or listened to. I shuffle around to try and nudge him again when the cage sways under me. I freeze, and the cage stills.

Giving up on Ron for now, I peer through the bars as much as I can. It seems like we’re in some kind of cavern. Grey, empty, chilly, slightly damp. The cold ambient light has no visible source. It’s as if we’re suspended in a storm cloud.

I then lean as close to the bars as my restrained hands would allow. Below me is a chain, falling into the mist. I couldn’t see anything above me. That was odd; a chain holding up the cage from the bottom? I’m fairly certain that defies several laws of physics, including gravity. 

Then again, my life is full of unbelievable events as of late.

Ron is stirring.

“Ron?”

“Mnnn, stop yelling,” he slurs.

“I’m not-... yelling?” I drop my voice even lower, despite it hardly being above a whisper in the first place. “Ron, what happened?”

He responds with a slight groan. There’s several moments of silence before he responds, “I don’t… wait… there was… and…” he looks at me, though I could tell his vision is swimming, “Doc, I think we’re in trouble. Bad trouble.”

I suddenly hear hissing. Several pairs of clawed feet skitter up the chain and two reptilian bodies slither into the cage. They’re two feet long from nose to tail-tip and an ugly brown. They glance at the still-out-of-it Ron for a few moments, then study me, tongues flicking in and out. Their heads tilt, then they crawl down the bars and prowl toward me.

My heart begins to pound. The lizards back me up against one barred wall, my hands straining at the shackles. They part and stand under either elbow, fixing their beady eyes on mine.

The cage shudders, then begins to descend. It is slowly pulled through the strange mist, the moisture and chill making my hair stand on end. I keep my wary eyes on the lizards, unsure of what to do other than keep still.

My stomach is suddenly catapulted into my head as soon as the cage breaks through the mist and it descends in a free fall. It only lasts a few seconds before the sounds of grinding metal brings it to a painful halt.

I yelp from the sudden pain shot through my body. I’m stunned for a few moments, during which I feel my chains releasing and some vise-like grip twisting my arms behind my back. By the time my vision stops swimming, I realize the lizards are now clamped to my shoulders, and their tongues are firmly restraining my forearms.

Gross.

A clawed hand seizes my hair and yanks me to my feet. I’m roughly dragged from the cage before I’m forced to kneel on the rocky ground. I snap my head up as soon as I’m released, determined to find out where I am and who’s responsible for this encroachment on my freedom.

I might have made some angry retort, but my recognition of two supervillains stills my tongue.

Riptile himself stands above me. His anthropomorphic reptilian body ripples with lithe muscle. His red eyes almost glow, and his sneering mouth parts to let a forked tongue flick the side of my face. His skin is never one color, shifting through different tones of red and black, like a chameleon.

My eyes glance at the other villain standing behind Riptile. Rather, the villainess.

Her name is Cockney, so dubbed for her accent, and also a play on words in regards to her… addiction. She’s got a classic cowgirl look, with a revealing flannel top and tight jean shorts. Black boots reach up her shins, and a black Stetson hangs on her back by a string around her neck.

She is smiling at me. The kind of smile that has no problem raping me to death before leaving my skinned and decapitated corpse in the river.

Because that’s exactly what she’s known for.

She saunters over to me and summons a rope from thin air, a power of hers, cinching it around my throat and hoisting me to her imposing height, pulling my feet off the floor.

“Well well, aren’t you a looker,” she purrs over my gasps for air, “I always thought doctors had an appeal. Haven’t actually taken a bite out of one yet.” She inhales deeply, breathing down the side of my neck, “Maybe I’ll get the chance soon,” she whispers. Her voice sends sick chills down my spine.

The woman lets my feet back on the ground, though only enough to barely allow purchase. My feet slip as she presses a knife to my back and her hips to mine.

I can’t move. I’m stuck between her lust and a knife. I hold my breath and swallow hard.

“Nervous?” Cockney asks, “You should be, Doctor.” Her voice is dripping with sensual desire, “I’d _hate_ to let someone like you go… _unappreciated_.”

“Enough, harlot,” a gruff voice barks.

Cockney clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh come on, sci-fi, I just got a good look at him.”

“I said enough. He is not to be touched by either of you.”

I’m dumped to the floor. My restrained hands mean my head hits the rock. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to hurt, for sure. Riptile grabs my hair again and sets me back on my knees.

Now fighting off a headache, I finally get a look at the mastermind behind all this: CheMIST.

He was once a prodigious scientist, but universities and the like wouldn’t recognize his genius as much as was needed to satiate his enormous ego. So, he took his work to the criminal underworld and made a name for himself, gaining powers to control mist and fog, which he often combined with his own dangerous chemical concoctions.

Now he is an amoral, apathetic crime lord.

And I’m his prisoner.

CheMIST stares down at me behind those mirrored goggles of his, in which I see my pale, slightly bruised face. I set it into a neutral but defiant expression.

“So,” CheMIST snips, “You are Trevor Conner, head surgeon at Litburn Medical Center. And, as of late, you have found yourself a confidante of the Soldier, am I correct?”

CheMIST’s strange accent makes it a bit difficult for me to understand him, but I keep a poker face and say nothing.

CheMIST huffs and grabs the front of my shirt. I am again lifted off the floor, but I only take notice how thin CheMIST is. He’s almost skeletal; his skin is deathly pale and stretched over his frame. Yet the blanched appearance hides a cold strength. I could feel his hand remain steely and unshaked even while supporting my weight.

It doesn’t keep me from imagining him as a skeleton in a barely passable human disguise. I should be terrified, yet the image keeps me in a state of mild amusement.

CheMIST sets me on my feet and scrutinizes me head to toe. “You will accomplish what I need,” he declares, “Come with me, Doctor Conner.”

I don’t move. Riptile pushes me. When I still don’t walk, he grabs the back of my neck and begins to shove me onward. I relent and start walking of my own accord, though I seriously want to spit on that lizard.

I follow CheMIST from the rock cavern over a metal landing leading to a series of glassy, whitewashed hallways. I figure this must be a lab of some kind. It likely doubles as a secret hideout.

I wonder how far down underground it is.

CheMIST keeps talking as we walk, “It is our understanding, Doctor, that you recently had contact with Soldier and offered him your services. You understand, being who we are, we cannot allow such collaborations go unnoticed. Or unpunished. Thankfully, Soldier was easily subdued, and you and your…” his hand rolled, “ _associate_ were as well.”

My expression did not match my sudden feeling of dread. Soldier had been captured as well? What would this mean for me? For Ron? For my hospital?

I keep walking, trying to note the turns we take, but the hallways all look the same. Meanwhile, CheMIST is still talking, “Since Soldier apparently has such faith in you and your ability to keep him alive,-” he opens a door into an empty room, “-that is what you will do.”

I can’t stop my eyes from widening. On the other side of the viewing glass, Soldier lays on an operating table in even worse shape than when I last left him on my couch. Fresh, bleeding gashes litter his skin and I can tell several bones are broken, even from across the room.

I look back at CheMIST, who only seems mildly amused. He waves away the lizards holding my arms, then gestures at the operating room and its patient, “This is why you are here, Doctor Conner. To keep him alive. There ought be everything you require in that room, and should you need something extra, it will be provided. We don’t want Soldier’s lifeline to be weakened by a mere lack of supplies.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to help you!” I snap, unable to keep my silence, “I won’t treat him if it means you’ll subject him to greater cruelties!”

CheMIST tilts his head, “Won’t you? Isn’t it in some oath as a physician that you _‘apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to your ability’_?”

“You forget the second part, ‘ _I will keep them from harm and injustice._ ’ Healing knowing he will be hurt again falls under that ‘harm and injustice’ category.” I scowl at CheMIST.

Cockney sticks her head in the door, shoving aside Riptile, “Hey, CheM’? What do we do with the other one? He’s awake and askin’ questions.”

CheMIST doesn’t take his eyes off me, though answers in a calm resolution, “Oh, whichever one of you gets to him first can have him.”

The two villains look at each other, then take off down the hall.

I suddenly realize what CheMIST meant and rush for the door, “Wait, stop!”

The door slams in my face. I pound on it, “Leave him alone!”

A door behind me slides open into the OR. CheMIST is looking around inside it. He’s not looking at me, though I can sense his cruel satisfaction from my growing despair.

Ron. He could be dead any moment now, either made a meal of by the lizard, or sport of by the woman. I have to force my voice to stay flat and steady as I address CheMIST, “You… you’ve killed your leverage against me.” 

“Have I?” I hear him ask, “I thought it might be a good way to teach you that we don’t take this matter lightly. Here is your patient, Doctor. I leave you to figure out if you will do your duty as a physician.”

I curse him.

“Oh, no need for that,” CheMIST responds, “I already am.”

I hear another door open and shut, and I’m alone in the room. My fists are still against the door Riptile and Cockney ran from.

I turn slowly. I enter the OR.

The door shuts behind me.

I don’t move. Instead, I lean against the door and slide down it until I’m seated.

My arms hug my knees and I sink my head down.

Ron…

Soldier…

What do I do?


	3. Chapter 3

I mull over my situation.

It’s bad on all points.

Yet it doesn’t stop me from beginning to treat Soldier. I am a doctor after all, and he put his life in my hands before.

Though this time, his life is being put in my hands by another.

CheMIST was right though, this room is well-supplied. I couldn’t have asked for a better one out of my own hospital. For a while, I almost forget I’m being held against my will in an underground lab by three of the most notorious supervillains in the city.

Soldier remains unconscious the entire time I’m stitching wounds, wrapping burns, and splinting bones. And all the while, my mind repeats that these were intentional. These injuries weren’t from a fight, but deliberate torture.

I again question if I’m doing the right thing by helping him, knowing my efforts will be in vain.

I shake my head. Focus on helping him here and now.

I finish up. It takes a cold spike of realization that I’m alone to make me start cleaning the tools and putting supplies away. Usually the techs take care of that sort of thing.

Usually, Ron takes-... _took_ care… of that sort of thing.

I stop. My heart sinks behind my ribs. A knot rises in my throat.

My mind blanks.

A part of me wants to believe maybe he’s still alive.

The other part wants to deny the thought that he’s dead.

I know what grief is. I’ve dealt with it. I know it’s healthy to go through all the stages and let myself mourn.

This is just… a bad place to do it.

So I fight down the tears for now. I finish cleaning up and sit on the floor beside the table.

Soldier is still out cold.

He isn’t even restrained.

So either he’s that weak, or CheMIST is relying on whatever gas he used to knock Soldier out to keep him out.

I’m… hoping it’s not the former.

I study Soldier from where I sit. He’s breathing steadily, if a bit shallow. His pulse has been slow and strong all the while. He might have been tortured, but he’ll pull through.

 _If_ CheMIST lets him recover and doesn’t immediately take him back to whatever torture chamber I’m sure is hidden in the darkest corner of this lab.

I feel small feet on my hand, and a gecko’s head peeks up at me. I stand sharply and shake it off. It lands, opens its mouth with a hiss and reveals fangs, then charges at me.

I emit a profanity and grab a tray, intending to squash the little thing. It keeps trying to bite my feet, to which I keep skipping away from it.

I have little doubt that, if I was being watched, the spectator would be laughing at me, dancing away from a lizard and all.

Eventually, the gecko skittles up a table and jumps at me. I swat it out of the air into a wall. It hits the floor and stays still.

“Fine, if _that’sssss_ how you’re going to play…”

I turn at the sound of Riptile’s voice behind me and am met with a prehensile tail gripping my throat and lifting me off the ground.

I pull at the scaly grip, but it just squeezes tighter. I choke and gag. My pulse pounds in my head. Black tunnels my vision as I feel my body start to weaken. I see glowing red eyes peering at me, but feel strangely relaxed as my limbs flop to my sides and darkness closes in completely.

I wake up with a gasp, which instantly turns into coughing. I curl on my side to try and get my breathing under control. Between wheezes, I ask myself what happened-...

Red eyes. A vise grip. Scales under my fingers...

Right. Riptile choked me out.

I’m back in the cell, grey clouds around me, my hands chained to the floor.

My eyes catch the other pair of chains.

The other, _empty_ pair of chains.

Ron….

He had a wife. And a younger sister he was helping through college.

The shock and denial of it all finally wears off and I end up curled in a sobbing ball.

Those… those _villains…_ they _killed_ him!

I don’t care if I’m being watched or listened to.

My sobs shake myself and the cage, rattling the chains as I mourn Ron.


	4. Chapter 4

I am a man of habit, but I hate this one.

I’m always slapped or kicked awake when I’m deeply asleep to either eat, or treat Soldier.

Granted, the food isn’t bad. It’s real food. Cold. But at least not rotting.

I can hardly eat, though. My morale has taken a nosedive as of late. My emotions are worn raw from grieving Ron and trying to stay focused for Soldier. I’m stuck in a cycle of being in the cell, treating Soldier, then ending up back in the cell. I feel uncomfortably sick most of the time.

I do notice that I sleep much more than normal. I would have written it off as being tired or bored, but it often feels like I can’t help but fall asleep. I figure it’s something in the cloud my cell is hanging in; perhaps some kind of sedative to keep me sluggish and hazed.

The days pass. Then a week. Then two.

I get so desperate for someone to talk to that I try talking to my captors. The best I get is a sneer or lusty smile.

So… I start talking to Soldier.

Call me crazy, go ahead, but I needed some other body to talk to. To distract me. Every time I wanted to make conversation, it simply reminded me that Ron wasn’t there. So I resorted to the only other ally I had, even if he was unconscious the whole time.

I had one-sided conversations with him, telling him about anything I thought of. Including my fear of being here forever or finding him in a state that I couldn’t help and watching him die.

Then the day comes that… I suppose… I shift into the anger stage of grief. I suddenly see Soldier not as an ally, but the one at fault for everything. My capture, Ron’s death, the existence of these villains, _everything_. And for a good moment, I _hate_ him.

I seize a scalpel and press it to his throat. Just one incision, and he’d bleed out in a matter of seconds. I know this. I could be rid of him.

Then I could swear I hear Ron’s voice in my head.

“ _Doc, what are you doing!?”_

I stop.

What…

What _am_ I doing?

I drop the scalpel and stagger backward until my back finds a shelf. I end up on my knees, hugging myself.

Oh stars, what did I almost do? Where did those thoughts come from? Did I mean them?

No. I can’t have. I’m grieving. I’m stressed. I’m not in my right mind.

Ron…

Soldier…

I’m so sorry.

Then a clawed hand grips my hair and yanks my head up.

“You are unfinished, Doctor Conner,” CheMIST tells me, “Is something the matter?”

Riptile lets go of my head. I look back at the floor, trying to steady my breathing.

CheMIST sounds annoyed, “Doctor Conner, if you are unable to work-“

“No!” I interrupt him, “I-... I mean… I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong, I… I can work.”

The scientist is silent. He studies me from behind that dark visor.

I’m aware my expression is haggard and desperate. I’m afraid, I can’t deny it. If he decides I’m not useful…

“Pick him up,” he orders Riptile.

I’m plucked off the floor. CheMIST gets in my face, “If you can work, you will work, and do so efficiently.” His head tilts, “Am I understood?”

I swallow, but can’t make my voice work.

Riptile drops me. CheMIST steps on my splayed hand, “I said, am I understood?”

“Understood!” I gasp, unable to look up at him.

He steps off. Both villains seem to vanish in an instant.

I haul myself to my feet, holding my bruised hand. I fight back tears and look toward Soldier.

I need to keep working. That’s the only thing that will keep both of us alive right now.


	5. Chapter 5

As usual, I’m washing my hands to prep for surgery. Soldier has a broken arm and the bone has shifted. I have my tools within arm’s reach, as I’m again painfully reminded of my lack of techs.

I realize I’m missing a tool and turn to retrieve it when Soldier's voice echoes in my head.

“Stay calm.”

I freeze.

“I’m speaking to you telepathically. No one else can hear me. Please, don’t act differently; this is a fragile situation.”

Not knowing what else to do, I find the missing tool and place it with the others.

I begin working.

“I am sorry I have been unable to make contact before now, Doctor.”

I open my mouth to talk, but he interrupts me.

“No, don’t speak. I haven’t established a two-way connection yet. If we are to devise means of escape, we must do so discreetly.”

I peer a bit closer toward his injured arm and pretend to be confused by something I see, “What?”

“I will have the chance to explain more later. For now, I needed to make you aware of this. CheMIST has been keeping me weak, but I am working on a way to get the both of us out of here.”

Well, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in weeks!

“Now, if you don’t mind, Doctor Conner, I’ll let you work in silence. Using my powers is tiring.”

He falls silent and I could swear it was like a phone line disconnects from my brain. I step back for a moment to take a breath and refocus.

Okay, so Soldier has telepathic powers and is trying to escape. Good to know.

The weeks following, we talk. I tell him about Ron and what’s been happening to me. Soldier offers his sympathy for Ron, though something about his tone makes him sound… unsure of something.

I ask Soldier what the villains have been doing to him, to which he says that CheMIST is the only one inflicting damage. He wouldn’t say anything else about it.

He says the base here is laid out like a labyrinth; if I tried to escape, the villains would just let me wander the halls until I gave up. Fortunately, Soldier knows how to get around, x-ray vision through the walls and all. The exit is on the lowest level, which leads to an old mine shaft elevator to the surface. CheMIST’s lab, where Soldier has been spending most of his time, is a few floors up.

I tell him about where I’m being held, and he says he knows where that is. Apparently I’m being held on the topmost floor, like the roof of the whole complex, my cage suspended in a gravity-defying cloud of CheMIST’s making. That is likely why I’m often knocked out while being taken to and from the OR; the villains don’t want me knowing any more about the base’s layout in case I get any bright ideas to escape.

Then one day, Soldier asks why I almost slit his throat.

“What?! I…! You… you know about that?” I ask through the telepathy.

“I have always been fully aware, Doctor. I can’t move or speak due to CheMIST’s paralytic, but everything you’ve said and done, I have heard and felt.” He sounds remorseful about it.

I suddenly feel concerned, “But… all those surgeries! You mean you-”

“Felt everything, yes.”

My stomach clenches. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My concern is crept upon by embarrassment; I had talked to him so much during those operations when I thought he was unconscious.

I then recall his initial question and am overcome by shame. “I’m… Soldier, I didn’t mean it. I was grieving and-... m-my mind needed something to blame for everything. I’d never-”

“I understand, Trevor. And it’s all right,” Soldier assures me, “You needed something to help cope with your situation. You need not be ashamed of anything you’ve done. The fact that you’ve held out this long this well is testament to your strength.”

I scoff at that last part. Me? Strength? Says the superhero who can lift mountains.

Then again, I can’t help but feel like he’s right.

I’m returned to my cage and sleep deeply, feeling at ease for the first time in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: NON-CON / SEXUAL ASSAULT

I awake with a hand stroking my hair. I quickly flinch back, batting the hand away and sitting up.

“Rude,” Cockney ticks. My cell has been pulled to the ground. She’s sitting next to the bars and giving me the most hungry smile I’ve ever seen. I glance around for Riptile or CheMIST.

“No, they’re not here,” Cockney says. Her fingers walk up one of the bars, “But I am. And you are. And I think…” she holds the bars and leans heavily on the cage, setting her face against the bars, “we can have a bit of fun. Don’t you think? Doctor Conner?”

I give her the most disgusted look I can manage while keeping to the opposite end of my cage. She stands and opens the door, then summons a rope and cinches it around my wrists, “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

My chains unlock, leaving me free to be yanked out of the cage by Cockney. I manage to keep my feet, “Let me go!” I demand.

“Oh honey,” Cockney purrs. She jerks me forward and gets close to my face, “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for something else.”

I pull back at the ropes, but her superhuman strength keeps me in place. She shortens the length of the lead and proceeds to pull me along.

My bare feet keep slipping on the smooth floor, but I try my best to resist her. I even go so far as to call for CheMIST, but no sooner are the syllables out of my mouth that Cockney cinches a rope around my mouth. The rough material chafes my face and shuts me up.

Soon, Cockney shoves me into a room and locks the door behind her. The room is completely bare and white. An eight-foot-square room with nothing on the floor or walls. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling flicker behind glass, bathing the room in an even colder light.

Cockney had released her ropes when she shoved me in, but I have nowhere to run from her. I back against a wall and face her, “What do you want?” I ask, knowing full well already.

She licks her lips and tilts her head. Her expression says enough.

Ropes spring from her hands and I end up lashed to the wall. My arms are spread to the side and my legs are slightly bent, tied together at the ankles and knees, though my feet are off the floor so I’m eye-to-eye with Cockney’s above-average height.

She rushes forward and slams her hands to the wall on either side of my head. I try my best to move away from her as she sniffs down my neck and shoulder, and I begin to pray she doesn’t start biting me.

I squirm and pull at the ropes to no avail. This makes her chuckle and slide her fingers around the nape of my neck while her other hand traces down my arm. “Mm, you’re good,” she whispers. She keeps breathing down my neck and nosing my shoulder.

The hand on my arm starts moving under my sleeve and massaging my upper arm. Cockney smiles, “Strong. Toned” her lips purse, “A bit tense, don’t you think?”

“Let go,” I say. It comes out weaker than I want. Cockney merely chuckles and tugs my sleeve away from my shoulder. I hear her mouth open and her tongue slides over my skin from my shoulder up the side of my neck.

I inhale sharply, “S-stop it.”

“Yes, beg for me,” she whispers. The sound sends a shudder through me. I squirm more, shaking my head to try and loosen her hold. Her teeth bare. She grips my hair and shoves her hips against mine, knocking me against the wall. She doesn’t move away, keeping contact and moving her hips up and down in small motions.

I clench my jaw and try not to gasp. She’s trying to excite me. She backs up and shoves against me again. The impact from hitting the wall sends a jolt of pain through my back and I barely bite back a groan.

Cockney huffs and steps back. I take the moment to catch my breath, but I also make a point to fix her with a hard glare.

Her lips purse, “You’re right, we’re moving too fast.” She steps forward again and tips up my chin with a finger, “Give us a kiss, Doctor.”

I clench my mouth shut and twist my head to the side. She grabs my jaw and forces me to face her. I didn’t have time to blink before she shoves her lips against mine. I manage to keep my teeth together, but her tongue tries to invade, regardless. I don’t notice her fist pulling back until it was driven into my side.

I cough and gasp from the punch. She takes advantage of my open mouth to kiss me again, this time able to shove her tongue inside. Her head turns diagonal to mine as she tries to get her tongue as far down my throat as possible. I keep trying to move or spit her out somehow, but she’s too strong.

I make a split-second decision and bite her tongue.

I feel Cockney’s body shiver and she lets out a moan, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, she presses closer to me and rubs her hips against me again. Her cold hands slip under my shirt and start running over my torso.

I bite her tongue again. I feel flesh tear and taste blood that isn’t mine. Shouldn’t she have pulled back by now? I part my teeth to try again, but then Cockney takes an opportunity.

Her knees hit the wall on either side of me as she thrusts hard. Her nails dig into my back from pulling me toward her. I yelp from my shoulder being pulled out of joint, but the sound turns into a choking gag from her tongue pushing into my throat.

“ _COCKNEY!!!_ ”

The woman is hit by something and rears back.

I’m instantly dropped to the hard floor. My dislocated arm throbs and sends shooting pains through me. I hack and spit out blood and saliva, trying to get Cockney’s taste out of my mouth. I don’t look to see what Cockney is doing or who yelled at her, instead focusing on dragging myself away from her. I manage to wedge myself in a corner and curl around my injured arm.

A gruff voice registers on my ears. I look up through streaming eyes and see my unexpected rescuer. CheMIST glares at Cockney, who seems to be having trouble with her hands for some reason. She looks at CheMIST and scoffs, “Power sapper? Really?”

“I said he was not to be touched.”

“Touched, shmuched, he’s fine.”

The air itself seems to charge with an explosive power. CheMIST’s posture shifts to one of silent rage. He strides forward, forcing Cockney against the wall I had just been pinned to without ever touching her. I hold my breath, barely catching the scientist’s order. “Get. Out.”

CheMIST steps back just enough to let Cockney slip away and bolt from the room.

I sag with relief. CheMIST turns his attention to me, “Are you hurt?”

I nod, “Just my arm. Think she pulled it out of joint.”

“If it is put back, can you work?”

CheMIST and his insistence that I work. I hesitate for a few moments, then nod again, “Y-yes, I should. I don’t think anything was torn.”

CheMIST nods, “Good.” He is beside me in two strides. His long fingers curl around my arm and, with a sharp motion, pop it back into place. I let out a groan from the sudden stab of pain. My arm was working, though. A few twists and rolls emits some protesting pops, but the pain dies down to a dull ache.

I take several deep breaths and try to get my pulse down. My eyes close as I lean my head against the wall, perfectly fine with just sleeping where I sit. CheMIST, however, has other plans.

“Come, Doctor Conner,” he barks.

Knowing hesitation will anger him further, I obey. I have to keep my pace to a steady clip to keep up with CheMIST’s long, brisk strides. We enter an elevator.

Against my better judgment, I talk. “Thanks,” I say.

“For what?” CheMIST snips.

“For… back there. Telling off Cockney.”

“Doctor Conner, gratitude is reserved for those who commit to an act of goodwill purely out of selflessness.”

My brow knits slightly, “So what did you act from?”

“Necessity,” he says coldly, “If I had let her finish with you, it would have diminished my authority as her superior. Also I would prefer not to go seeking another surgeon when the one currently available suffices for my purposes.”

I swallow.

“Also,” CheMIST continues as the door slides open, “I admit to a modicum of respect for a peer in the high realm of science.”

A smile tempts my face. I let it spread wider as I continue to follow CheMIST down the hall. If CheMIST sees it, he makes no comment.

Finally, he turns me into a room I’ve become familiar with in the past month and a half.

A large bathroom, complete with a standing shower, an all-in-one laundry machine, and a sink and vanity.

I give CheMIST a confused look, “I thought you only let me shower on weekends.”

CheMIST squeezes his temples with one hand, “Doctor Conner, I am having a bad day,” he peers down at me, “You would be wise not to question my hospitality.”

I avert my eyes and nod. CheMIST turns to exit, “Thirty minutes.” He is nearly out the door when I interrupt, “CheMIST.”

He stops. His shoulders rise with a draw of breath but he doesn’t turn.

“Goodwill or no,” I say, “Thank you.”

He stands very still for a couple seconds, then slips out and shuts the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

“She _made out_ with you?!”

“It was _disgusting_ ,” I affirm to Soldier, “I barely made it out of the shower in my allotted time limit. I could _swear_ I still felt her hands all over me.”

“When we escape, I think I’ll reserve an extra punch in the mouth for her.”

I rub my face to hide a smile, “Well thanks.” I begin wrapping a freshly stitched wound when I think of something odd I’d been wondering. “I bit her tongue when she was kissing me, but it didn’t seem to bother her.”

Soldier hums in understanding, “She becomes a masochist when she’s on a pleasure high.”

My eyes roll, “So my attempt to ward her off turned her on?”

“Most likely.”

I swear.

“Language, Trevor,” Soldier chided. “She didn’t actually… go farther, did she?” he adds with concern.

“No, no. Just… just the kiss. She did keep rubbing against me, but nothing else happened. I’m all right.”

Soldier hums again, though this one sounds like it was to mask anger. I understand the anger; Soldier and I have been growing more and more friendly toward each other. I’m not surprised, after all, we’re the only friendly company we have. Plus, I think it’s just Soldier’s nature to be protective of civilians, especially if they, namely, me, were in a bad situation largely because of an encounter with him.

That last thought sparks another. “It’s not your fault, you know,” I tell Soldier.

He’s silent for a few moments. “If it’s not my fault, then whose is it? After all, if I hadn’t sought you out, these villains wouldn’t have targeted you.”

“If it wasn’t me, it was going to be someone else,” I argue. “You said you didn’t regret coming to me, and I don’t regret helping you. It was a risk for both of us and we knew that, but it didn’t stop us from doing what needed to be done.”

Soldier chuckled, “Perhaps. I still feel like-”

“Well stop it,” I scold, and leave it at that.

I hear Soldier laugh again.


	8. Chapter 8

A few more weeks pass. Soldier and I have been prisoners for two months now, and we’re still no closer to figuring out an escape plan.

Today, I’m dragged into the OR as per usual. I see all three villains on my way there, which is odd, as I usually only see whomever happens to be escorting me.

Riptile shoves me in harder than necessary and slams the door with a mocking laugh.

I hate that lizard.

Soldier is in his usual place, though the number of injuries is notably low. A few gashes, but no broken bones. In fact, if I don’t treat him, his healing factor would probably suffice.

Regardless, I begin my routine.

“Don’t work on me.”

I turn to Soldier, “What?”

“All three of them are here, and they’re all walking around like they’ve gotten away with something. _Don’t_ treat me. If they’re hiding something, they might start threatening you with it if you don’t do what they want.”

I shrug. “Odd plan, but okay.” I pick out a spot against the wall and sit. “Ssssso…” I aim at Soldier, “What do you think is going on?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll find out.”

I raise an eyebrow, “You’re reeeeal great with pep talks.”

“Doctor Conner, please.”

“Alright, alright. But please, you can keep calling me Trevor.”

Soldier doesn’t reply, so we begin the waiting game.

It only takes about five minutes for CheMIST to come striding in. He stands in front of me and I can feel his judgmental stare boring into the top of my head. “You are not working.”

“Nope.”

“Pray tell, why?”

I stand and act angry, which wasn’t hard to do, considering circumstances, “I’m tired of all this! I’m tired of you using me!”

CheMIST looms over me, but I stand my ground. “Get back to work, Doctor Conner.”

I glare up at him, “No.”

To be honest, I’m half-expecting him to shoot me dead on the spot. I well know he doesn’t take kindly to people defying his orders.

We stare each other down for what seems like forever.

Then CheMIST smiles. “Riptile?” he calls, not taking his eyes off me, “I think it is appropriate for the good doctor to meet our… new guest.”

While the lizard slinks off, I keep up the act, “I’m not going _anywhere_ with you unless it’s out of this pit.”

“Yes. You are.”

CheMIST himself seizes my wrist and proceeds to jerk me along behind him. He doesn’t bother to accommodate for my shorter stride, rushing along at a speed that barely allows me to keep my feet.

We come to a stop. I yank my wrist out of CheMIST’s grip, and he then gestures to the room on the other side of the mirrored viewing glass.

I stare into the empty room for a few seconds, “What are you-”

“Just wait.”

As if on cue, the door slams open. Riptile walks in, dragging a woman by the hair. He ungracefully drops her in the room and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

My blood runs cold.

“You recognize her, yes?” CheMIST asks. “I thought about what you said when we… _got rid_ of your young associate. So I thought, if further _convincing_ was ever needed, someone else would suffice.”

I can’t hear what the woman says, but I can tell she’s pleading for help.

“I can assure you, Doctor Conner, I do know how leverage works,” says CheMIST, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Your continued cooperation will equal her continued survival.”

I don’t stop the tears rising into my eyes, “Y-you wouldn’t.”

CheMIST grips my face and turns it toward him, “Try my patience again, Doctor, and I will.”

He lets go of my face, and I turn back to the woman behind the glass. A few seconds pass before CheMIST speaks again, “Of course, a punishment for your insubordination is still in order.” He seizes my hair, “Fortunately, we have just the room.”

I’m dragged along once more, CheMIST’s hold on my head never letting up until he throws me into a dark room. I’m sent sprawling across the floor before I turn and look up at the imposing shadow in the doorway. It smiles at me, then slams the door, plunging me into utter darkness and complete silence.

I don’t move. I can’t. That woman…

Those villains killed Ron, then to force my compliance, they use his _wife_ against me?

I fill the silence with a roar of outrage.

The uncaring darkness swallows it, and me, whole.


	9. Chapter 9

I spend three days in the sensory deprivation room. No food, no water, no sound, no light. I learn the tiny room by touch; a seven-foot square space with a hard floor and heavily padded walls. Nothing else.

I keep my eyes closed most of the time, as there was little difference in them being open. My ears have started ringing to fill in the deafening silence of my breathing or pulse. My mouth is parched and my head has been spinning from dehydration. I don’t know how much longer I can last without water.

I haven’t been able to sleep. The seconds pass with my painful awareness of them.

The second day, I tried to talk to fill in the silence. I resorted to screaming when there wasn’t even an echo in response; it was like the voice in my head was also silenced. I only stopped when I coughed up blood.

I end up passing out near the end of the third day. Whatever has been forcing me awake fails to keep my body from shutting down from dehydration and fatigue.

My head spins faster when I come around. Light registers on my eyes, and sound in my ears. The input seems so overwhelming and I raise a hand to cover my eyes or ears. At least, I want to raise a hand, but it doesn’t respond to my orders.

“Remain still,” a voice barks.

I wince from the sound. Whoever spoke didn’t bother to lower their voice. I want to tell them I’m thirsty and my head hurts, but the only sound out of my ragged throat is a weak croak.

“You are being hydrated to get the insomnia drug out of your system.”

The… what?

Stars, my head hurt. I turn my head to the side and try to fall back into unconsciousness.

“It will take some time for you to recover, but I assure you, Doctor Conner, you will come around and continue your work.”

I want to tell the voice to shut up and let me sleep. A hoarse grumble is my only response. The voice doesn’t respond and darkness begins to encroach. I let it.

“Trevor?”

Why is everything so loud?

“Trevor, can you hear me?”

“Stop yelling,” I slur back.

“You need to wake up,” the voice insists.

I groan at my sensitive ears and pounding pulse. This voice is different from the one earlier, though. It’s more gentle. I manage to crack my eyelids open, though I’m met with blurred figures of color and ow, that light.

My hand moves on command this time, lifting up and flopping over my head to shield out the light.

“Trevor?”

I grunt back. The voice doesn’t respond to it. Every sound feels like it stabs straight into my eardrums. The light makes my eyes ache simply trying to adjust, much less focus on something.

I’m allowed to lie in silence until the voice stabs my ears again.

“Can you sit up?”

I curse at the voice. Whoever it is can let me be.

“I’m trying to help you,” the voice insists.

“You can help by shutting up,” I snip. My throat burns with the words.

The voice falls silent and I hear a body stepping away. My mind hazes over and plummets once more into unconsciousness.

The third time I wake up, I’m simply annoyed. I have no idea as to why, but I’m annoyed. Everything feels weird, my back hurts, and I feel about ready to punch something.

“Trevor?”

My eyes snap open. I sit bolt upright, everything remarkably clear. “Soldier?” I ask.

“On your left.”

I turn to see Soldier himself, awake and giving me a tired smile, sitting against the wall.

His leg looks broken.

I glance around the empty room, finding the silvery walls in similar proportion to the cage I’m usually kept in. There are no chains on me, but there are on Soldier, around his wrists and throat. I shakily stand and approach him, “What happened?” I ask.

His expression drops, “I was hoping you could tell me. All I know is that CheMIST seemed to have lost interest in his… _dealings…_ with me for a few days, then you get dumped in here, half-dead from dehydration.”

“Oh.” I sit on my heels, thinking back to the past few days. I tell Soldier about the sensory deprivation room, then waking up in what I now think was an operating room.

Before I finish explaining, I notice Soldier’s head dip lower. “Is something wrong?”

“That all happened because you went along with my plan to refuse to work.”

I huff, “You’re blaming yourself again.”

He gives me an incredulous look. I stand and walk the few paces allowed in the small room, rubbing my hands through my hair in an effort to get my head to stop buzzing.

“Are you okay?” Soldier asks.

“There’s something I’m missing,” I respond, still pacing.

“Is it important?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

Soldier chuckles, “It will come to you.”

I let out a breathy hum, then look at Soldier. His leg is definitely broken. “Are _you_ okay?” I ask, gesturing to his leg.

Soldier’s eyes followed my gesture. “I’ll be alright. Besides, there’s not much you can do here.”

“I can at least look it over,” I reply, “Make sure the bone hasn’t shifted and there’s no internal bleeding.”

Soldier relents and leans his head against the wall, “Doctor’s orders?”

I chuckle, “Sure.”

Soldier holds very still, not uttering a sound while I inspect the injured area. “Well, it’s a broken femur, for sure,” I conclude, “But nothing’s shifted or torn.”

“I can live with that,” says Soldier.

I stand and pace a bit more, still perturbed about that _something_ that I’m forgetting. It feels important. I feel like I should be upset about it.

“By the way,” Soldier interrupts my thoughts, “Did you ever find out what it was these villains acquired? I recall CheMIST saying something about a new guest.”

It dawns on me. The woman they’d shown me. The one they threatened to kill if I didn’t cooperate.

“Cass…” I mutter.

Soldier tilts his head, “Who?”

My hackles rise with anger. My voice is a barely audible growl. “Cass. Ron’s wife. They have her.”

Soldier says nothing. I imagine he’s surprised.

My nails start to dig into my palms. “As if killing Ron wasn’t enough, they go the extra mile and take his _wife_ as leverage against me!?”

“Trevor…”

“Does she even know what happened to him?” I ask myself more than Soldier. My vision blurs with tears. That urge to punch something becomes stronger. My right hand pulls back.

“Trevor.”

I scream a curse and throw my fist at the wall.

Soldier catches my hand before I can break it against the metal. “Trevor! Please!” His voice is firm, but understanding. I pull my hand away, not bothering to wonder how he could have gotten there so fast, or how he was standing up with a broken leg. I storm the few steps to the opposite wall and sit against it with my head down on my knees.

My still-sensitive hearing picks up Soldier making a motion to speak, then stopping. He sits back down, grunting from the pain in his leg.

I feel my head begin to spin again. I manage to stave it by looking over at Soldier, noting the shackles and walls. “Why don’t you bust out of here?” I ask bluntly.

Soldier sighs. One hand points at the shackles, “Mercury.”

A caution flag pops into my head, “Wh-... that’s toxic!”

“So it is,” Soldier confirms, “For me, it makes me no stronger than a child.”

“It weakens you?”

Soldier nods. “Makes using my powers a struggle. Not completely impossible, but it… does enough.”

I don’t respond, sinking my head back onto my knees.

“If it helps,” whispered Soldier, “I don’t think they’ll harm her.”

It doesn’t. A wave of sadness crashes over me.

Cass has probably been missing her husband all this time, never knowing what happened to him.

And now she might find out, first-hand.

My hands grip the back of my head. I tense up as I hold back a sob.

I hear chains clink as Soldier sits beside me. A few seconds later, I feel a hesitant hand on my shoulder.

The gesture isn’t forward or uncouth. I’ve known Soldier doesn’t really understand the intricacies of humanity and its messy emotions, not being human himself. But his effort isn’t lost on me.

For a few moments, I let myself think that it’s Ron beside me, just being there, like always, after an exhausting surgery or losing a patient. The latter was always hard.

Would I have to tell Cass what happened?

Would I... even have a chance to tell her?

…

Would there come a day when I’d lose the patient beside me?

I curl up tighter. The warm hand on my shoulder never leaves.

A sob shakes me. I mutter a swear, “‘m sorry,” I croak, the words muffled and broken.

“You’re not at fault for showing emotion, Trevor,” Soldier says, his voice low and calm.

I break. The tears start falling.

Then the haze in my head swirls up and I slip once more into oblivion.


	10. Chapter 10

“Doctor Conner.”

I wake up in an OR, restrained to a table by my wrists and ankles, CheMIST standing above me. My shirt is missing, and a fluid IV drip is embedded in my arm.

“What are you doing to me?” I demand.

CheMIST waves me off, “Nothing detrimental, I assure you. Just ensuring my insomnia mist is fully out of your system and you are rehydrated.”

I glare at him.

He ignores me. “I am still wondering the wisdom of letting you see Soldier; but since you two are notably familiar despite never uttering a word to each other,” he fixes me with a pointed stare, “I suppose it can be allowed. Or perhaps,” his mouth forms a frown, “I ought to ensure he is well and truly unconscious during your operations.”

I struggle to keep a poker face. How long has he known? Did he just now figure it out?

CheMIST holds out his left hand. A green mist starts leaking from his fingers and forming a small cloud around his hand. “Here is what will happen, Doctor Conner. Either you willingly tell me what you two have been conniving, or I shall put this into your lungs and proceed to force your compliance.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

“I don’t believe you,” says CheMIST. “And one way or another, you will tell me the truth.” His misted hand starts lowering toward my face.

I try to turn away, “We haven’t been talking. There hasn’t been any conniving. Even if we could, what hope do we have?”

CheMIST’s hand doesn’t stop, “Last chance.”

I squirm with desperation. “I swear!”

“You are lying.” CheMIST’s hand covers my mouth and nose, his long, boney fingers gripping the sides of my head.

I resist the urge to inhale, but I know I can’t hold out forever. The drugged mist feels like hot needles on my skin.

My lungs insist on drawing air. The sharp gasp that follows triggers a violent cough, which only makes me inhale more of the burning gas. Every breath feels like searing fragments of glass are being dragged through my throat and chest.

CheMIST lets go of me, allowing me to catch my breath. “That was the gentlest of this mist. If you wish to feel its full effect, then by all means, keep quiet.”

My brain finds it in itself to rasp a curse at my captor and flip him off.

“Ah, petty insults,” CheMIST mutters.

More of the burning gas is forced into me. I writhe and let out strangled cries, both fruitless; my limbs are secured to the table, and CheMIST’s grip is steely.

The torture lasts longer and makes me convinced my lungs will tear themselves apart from the inside.

I can’t hold out. Make it stop! Please!

As soon as CheMIST let go, I wheeze and tell him what he wants, “We’ve been talking telepathically! We tried to think of a plan to escape, but it led nowhere. I swear, we’ve just been making conversation since then.”

“But you did try to escape.” CheMIST said sharply.

“No,” I croak, my throat and lungs feel like they’ve been stripped raw, “We just talked about trying. We gave up.”

“ _No_ , Doctor,” CheMIST looms over me, “If you have exchanged two words with Soldier, you know he does not give up. That is a particularly _annoying_ aspect of his,” he added with a growl. “My point being this. You may not be thinking of means to attempt escape, but he still is. I guarantee you, he is. I simply have to find what extreme it takes for him to abandon hope.”

The fresh air and my breath returning must embolden me to snark him. “I think we both know that’s impossible.”

CheMIST smiles at me. The sight sets me instantly on edge. “Well,” he hisses, “Guess we shall both find out. Won’t we.”

He turns sharply and strides away. I hear a door open and shut.

Silence descends.

I relax on the table, cold and hard and uncomfortable as it is. My breaths still rasp and bring a prickling pain, but the feeling is gradually starting to dull.

Well, now I know first-hand why CheMIST likes to capitalize the ‘-mist’ suffix of his name. Most people know anyway, but few survive experiencing the reason.

I then wonder if Soldier has had to endure worse.

He likely has.

I hate that. I hate that he’s suffering and neither of us can do anything. I hate that Ron's death led to his wife getting dragged into this pit.

My hands curl into fists and pull at their restraints, never mind the chafing as the straps dig into my skin. I arch my back off the surface of the table and voice my thoughts with a yell.

“ _I hate you!_ ”

No one hears me. The walls don’t even give the courtesy of echoing my words back. Loneliness and fear rake their claws through me as I fall limp on the table.

…

Someone.

Please help me.

 _I want to get out_.


	11. Chapter 11

CheMIST returns when the IV drip runs out. He forces me to inhale a sedative and I wake up in my cage, a plate of food beside me.

I clean the plate in a matter of minutes. I lean against the cell’s barred walls, greatful for my hunger being abated for the moment. The pattering of lizard feet make me tense up, but the iguana merely grabs the plate and skitters away. “Useful little creeps,” I admit.

A few minutes later, the same lizard returns with the plate loaded with more food. It sets its offering down and my mouth starts watering at the sight of the strawberries, cheese, and sliced turkey.

I reach for the food and am fully ready to devour it all when I notice the lizard hasn’t left yet. It stands a few steps away from the plate, eying the berries. I notice its eyes aren’t red, so Riptile isn’t controlling it, and it seems to be acting like a normal lizard. A hungry, normal lizard.

I tick my tongue and pick up a small strawberry. Holding it between two fingers, I gently hold it out to the iguana. Its head tilts this way and that, then its mouth opens and a tongue lunges for the fruit. I let it take its prize and it vanishes up over the top of the cage.

I eat the cheese and meat, savoring the flavors. I’m about to start with the strawberries when the iguana returns, eying the fruit expectantly. I oblige it and hold out another berry. Again, it grabs the fruit, but this time, it doesn't run. It simply backs up to the edge of the bars and noisily munches its snack. Another, and it sits within arm’s reach.

I hold out the last berry, but the lizard doesn’t take it. Its scaly head looks between me and the fruit, then stares at me and pokes its tongue at me. I lift the strawberry, “For me?”

The iguana tilted its head up and down.

I smile with amusement and eat the last berry. The plate now empty, the iguana grabs it up and runs back down the chain.

Smiling wider, I lean against the bars and let out a content sigh. It only takes half a minute for the lizard to return. “You’re a curious little guy, ain’t cha?” I say, sitting cross-legged.

The lizard creeps toward me slowly. It freezes when I hold out my hand on the floor, but then finds itself some boldness and clambers into my hand. I laugh to myself, “Feed an iguana a few strawberries and you get a new friend.”

The iguana starts climbing up my arm. It sits on my shoulder for a bit, tilting its head around and poking the tip of its tongue in and out.

“What are you doing?” I ask it rhetorically. As if in response, it proceeds to clamber up to sit on my head. I feel it settle its belly down and gently curl its feet into my hair.

“You, uh, comfy up there?”

The iguana emits an odd trill.

“Guess that’s a yes.”

Reptilian companion settled in, I reach one hand up and gently stroke a few fingers down its cool skin. It lets me pet it for a few minutes before letting out a croaking bark and nipping at my hand.

“Okay, enough pets for you, then.”

Still confused at the iguana’s behavior but no less grateful for the morale boost, I make myself as comfortable as possible sitting against the bars, and let myself doze off.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: NON-CON / SEXUAL ASSAULT

“Oh Doctoooor.”

I jerk awake when I hear the familiar sing-song voice.

Cockney is holding onto the bars, having perched herself on the outside of the cell. She must have climbed up the chain.

“What are you doing here?” I growl.

Cockney gives me a fake whimper, “Aw, we’ve got unfinished business.”

I continue to glare at her. “Did you not get CheMIST’s hint the first time?”

“I don’t take hints,” she smirked, “especially when it comes to... hnn _delicious_ men like you.”

I tell her off and call her a derogatory term. Her eyes spark a bit brighter, though I can’t tell if from lust or anger.

Might be both.

She yanks the barred door open and steps inside. I immediately stand as best I can and back up, though she easily pens me in. She lashes ropes around my ankles and yanks me off my feet, sending me sprawling.

I fill my lungs and am ready to scream for help, but Cockney wraps my mouth shut. The prepared scream turns into a garbled sound of pain from the chafing ropes.

Cockney holds a finger to my mouth, “Shhhh… No need for that, dear Doctor.” She smiles at me and proceeds to once more tie me up.

I’m seated with my hands above my head and my legs spread apart, tied at the knees.

Cockney lowers herself over me, coaxing me to look down the front of her shirt. When I look away and close my eyes, she kneels down and lays her weight on me. She then plants a wet kiss on the side of my neck.

I writhe against the restraints. Cockney laughs at my helpless state and proceeds to slide her hands under my shirt, stroking my stomach and waist. Her fingers trace around the muscles of my abdomen before finding the rough scar lines on my ribs.

“Ooh, what’s this?” she asks, lifting my shirt. “Hm, those are interesting scars, dear Doctor. How’d these happen?”

She makes no motion to ungag me, and I make no motion to answer her. My scars aren’t her business.

“Oh no matter,” Cockney sighs. She leans close until her nose is almost touching my face, sliding her hands lower all the while. One hand settles on my lower back, the other below my navel. Her lips connect with my cheek and the hand on my back lowers too far.

I rear up and try to crush that hand between the bars. It doesn’t work, but she pulls back anyway.

By now I’m breathing hard and starting to sweat. Cockney takes pleasure in seeing my discomfort and plants both hands on my hips, squeezing her fingers hard enough that I’m sure they’ll form bruises later.

Cockney’s focus then drops to between my legs. My brain goes into panic mode and I start pulling and writhing and trying to scream. She simply shushes me and lays a hand on my stomach.

Then her finger traces a line down the middle of my body and only stops to hook into the waistband of my pants.

If I wasn’t gagged, I admit, I would have been begging. My breathing is becoming shallow and raspy, and I’m covered in a cold sweat.

Cockney tugs my waistband and starts lowering her hand toward my groin.

The cage shudders. Then drops.

Halfway out of the cloud, something strikes Cockney in the face and sends her falling out of the still-open door.

The cage hits the ground and I’m instantly released from both the ropes and the chains. I instantly curl up, covering myself with my arms and trying not to descend into absolute panic.

My little iguana friend skitters up to me and leans against my leg. I take notice of Riptile nearby. The iguana must have noticed Cockney coming and rushed off to find Riptile.

For once, I’m glad to see the villain.

I look up a bit farther and see that CheMIST has Cockney by the hair. The woman is on her knees, grasping at the scientist’s hand. I can tell that one of her shoulders is broken; it must have been from her fall.

My blood chills hearing CheMIST’s dangerously calm voice. “I set my rule, I enforced my rule, and I gave you a warning.” His grip on Cockney tightens, “That was three, harlot.”

“W-wait,” Cockney stutters, “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, was just a bit o’ harmless fun.”

“Does he _look_ unharmed?” CheMIST points a finger at me, still curled up and shivering. Cockney doesn’t have an answer, so CheMIST forces a sedative into her nose and drags her off.

Now it’s just me, Riptile, and an iguana. Riptile looks at the lizard at my feet, “Well, guesssss my little friend was usssseful after all.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” I ask, still staring down the hall CheMIST stormed through.

Riptile barks a laugh that makes me flinch, “Nothing pleassssant, I imagine! Who knowssss?” he steps closer and wraps a clawed hand around one of the cell bars, “Perhapssss you’ll need to sssave her life from hisss temper.”

I hope not.

I dip my head to rest on my knees and have a hard time swallowing, my throat and mouth dry. The iguana perks up before scrambling away. I hear Riptile take a few steps away and make some kind of amused grumble. Not long after, Riptile’s hand sticks through the bars, “My little errand runner ssssays you need thisss.”

I glance up. Riptile’s claws are wrapped around a glass of water. I take it and only give a thought to if the liquid could be laced with something after the glass is drained. I don’t immediately feel ill, so it was probably just water.

I set the empty glass on the floor outside the cage, “Thanks,” I say to Riptile. The reptilian villain sneers at me and crawls off on all fours, vanishing into some hidden tunnel in the rocky walls.

My little iguana buddy trills at me. I smile at it and pick it up, setting it in my lap. “At least I’ve got someone to keep me company,” I mutter to it. It stares at me with wide grey eyes. “Should I give you a name?” I ask as I pet it. It trills again. “You and your little trills. Hey, what if I call you that? Trill?”

The iguana tilts its head and bounces on its forelimbs.

“Heh, Trill it is, then.” I glance at the empty glass, “Hey, do you think you could get me some more water?”


	13. Chapter 13

Riptile yanks the cell door open so hard it rattles the cage. I’m awake in an instant, though it takes a few seconds for my brain to come online. By the time I realize I’m on my feet, unchained, and outside the cage, Riptile is growling, “Emergenccccy,” and picking me up in his mouth.

“Hey! What are you-? What’s going on?!” I demand. Riptile’s jaws are still firmly clamped around my torso, so no answer from him. He carries me like some kind of toy, scurrying along on all fours down a tunnel system I’m guessing he himself dug out. I have to tuck my feet in and more than once duck my head to keep from getting clobbered by the sides of the narrow tunnel.

Eventually, we emerge through an air vent and Riptile ungracefully drops me several feet to the floor. I cough as the wind is knocked out of me. Riptile barely gives me a chance to breathe, dragging me to my feet by my hair.

“Ah, Doctor Conner,” says CheMIST’s voice, “I apologize for the abrupt summons, but I assure you it was necessary.”

“Necessary that an overgrown skink throw me around like a chew toy?” I wheeze, still catching my breath.

Riptile hisses at me and CheMIST simply gestures for me to follow him. He leads me into a room I’ve never seen before. It looks similar to the OR I treat Soldier in, but this one is much bigger and looks like what I imagine a mad scientist’s lab to be. Beakers and incubators and vials and half-finished mechanisms are all strewn about in a crazed version of organization. I notice some kind of piping full of a silver substance running along the ceiling, and there’s a covered body lying on a table at the far end of the room.

Now thoroughly disturbed, I follow CheMIST through another door. The next room is mostly empty, aside from the giant machine against one wall, various sharp implements and filled chemical bottles, and an operating table, on which is Soldier.

And I can tell he’s dying.

I utter a string of curses and rush to his side, “What did you do?!” I scream at CheMIST.

The scientist waves it off, “Erm, given recent happenings, I may have lost my temper-.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Lost your-! You maniac, this is a fatal midline incision! If he wasn’t lying down, you would have disemboweled him!”

“Keep him alive, Doctor Conner,” CheMIST said calmly, “and you will have nothing to worry about.”

I snarl at CheMIST, “You sadist son of a Crossed!”

The scientist disregards me and heads for the door, “Petty insults won’t save your patient, Doctor Conner.” With that, he shuts the door, leaving me with a dying patient groaning in agony.

I find a pair of gloves and hook up a heart monitor in record time. I plead with Soldier to try and stay still, but I doubt he can hear anything beyond his misery-wracked body.

The incision doesn’t look like it’s damaged too many of Soldier’s internals, but Soldier isn’t human; there are organs that I’ve never seen before, much less know how to treat. I have to get the wound closed and hope that his healing factor will do whatever I can’t.

I manage to stabilize him, able to wrap the wound enough so he won’t bleed any more than the copious amount already soaking the floor. I take a moment to breathe as I search for a sterilizing agent and surgical tools. A wound like this won’t stitch quickly.

Failing to ignore the bloody prints my bare feet leave on the floor, I find the necessary kits and start working. The slow, erratic beep of the pulse monitor does nothing to help my nerves. I feel as if every beep could be the last before it falls silent. Would an AED even work on him?

The process is painfully slow, not helped by the fact that I’m working by myself on an awake and moving patient. I put in the barest minimum of stitches needed to hold the underlying tissue together before pulling the ends of the sliced muscle. Even as I’ve fully stemmed the bleeding, something about Soldier’s still-worsening condition makes me think something else is wrong with him.

The thoughts abate, my focus turning back to the surgery. I’m almost done with the muscle when Soldier convulses. I instantly drop what I can and try to still him, “Soldier! Soldier, hold still!”

I can’t tell if he hears me. He’s still writhing and pulling himself off the table. Against my better judgement, I let go of the stitching needle and plant both hands on Soldier’s shoulders, pleading with him calm down.

Soldier’s right hand violently pulls at the restraint. I hear the heart monitor beeping faster and more erratically. The mental phone line in my head connects and Soldier screams in my mind. I can’t discern any words or even my own thoughts through his agonized wails. The sudden cacophony fills my skull with electrified needles. “Soldier!” I plead mentally and verbally, “S-... stop it, please!”

Soldier’s voice rattles through my head, the first words I can discern through his screaming. “ _It hurts!_ ”

The mental link cuts.

The beeping of the monitor once more becomes the prevailing sound in my ears. I shake my head to clear the remaining electricity, not noticing that Soldeir’s right hand is still pulling at the restraint until it snaps and he seizes the front of my shirt.

I’m yanked downward and Soldier rasps in my ear, “Mer-cury.”

The pulse monitor falls silent as Soldier falls limp.

My eyes instantly sweep the room for an AED or defibrillator. I can’t find one. I consider CPR, but then realize Soldier’s physiology is different and CPR might not work either.

My eye then catches the silver piping on the walls.

‘Mercury.’

Soldier said it weakens him.

I trace the pipes to the machine, then the thinner lines on the floor that snake up the side of the table and end at a hidden needle in Soldier’s upper spine.

Realization hits and I grab the nearest metal tool I can find, which happens to be a scalpel, and rake the blade through the piping. The tube is severed easily and I also extract the needle. A drop of the toxic liquid metal drips from the end, and I throw the needle in disgust.

I then turn back to Soldier. He still isn’t responding and I don’t know what else to do. A few dreadfully long seconds pass.

Then the monitor beeps and Soldier inhales.

I sigh with relief as Soldier’s pulse evens out and he breathes on his own. The mental link reconnects, “Trevor? What’s happened?”

Even telepathically, I can tell Soldier is in intense pain. I answer, “CheMIST cut you open. Badly. You flatlined, but I found and cut the mercury and I guess you came back on your own.”

Soldier sighs a short laugh, “My heart is beating because of yours.”

I pause from resuming to stitch the wound, “What?”

“I get my strength from living, moving energy. Nature, the turn of the planet, the breath of life, it all sustains me.” His eyes open and look at me, “Your presence here, your life, I’m maintaining mine from yours, drawing from you. That monitor is _your_ pulse, is it not?”

I notice that it is, “I don’t understand.”

“It… is a bit hard… to explain,” Soldier’s words slow and his eyes drift toward the ceiling. He coughs once, “I-if you don’t mind, Trevor, I think I’m… going to pass out.”

I sigh, “Go ahead. Not like I’ll stop you.” I also really want him to not be aware while I finish stitching him back together.

Soldier blacks out. I keep working. My pulse keeps beeping on the monitor.

Finally, after over an hour of work, I finish. I put in the final stitch, and I notice that sometime earlier, Soldier’s pulse had fallen out of sync with mine.

I take it as a good sign.

I put away the tools and am in the middle of washing my hands when I notice how hard my own heart is pounding. Its rate is also oddly slow, at a deep sleep rate instead of resting awake.

Darkness creeps in on the corners of my vision.

This isn’t an adrenaline crash. Something’s wrong.

“Doctor Conner!”

CheMIST’s barking voice snaps me back to awareness. My heart still audibly thuds in my head. “CheMIST,” I growl.

“Your work has concluded?”

I turn slowly from the sink, “Yeah. He’ll live if you let him recover.” Heart still pounding, I approach the scientist and fix him with a glare, “I know what you’re doing to him. With the mercury.”

CheMIST sneers, “Congratulations,” he looms over me, “And what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?”

My pulse is so loud. Is it slowing down more? “I’ll do something. Maybe not now, but I will.” I’m finding it hard to focus on the near-skeletal face above me. Something feels like it’s burning into my left shoulder blade.

The room sways under me. Darkness creeps in once more. I lift a hand to my head.

“Doctor Conner?” CheMIST asks.

My body pitches sideways. I feel a pair of boney hands grip me and keep me on my feet. CheMIST turns me around with a sharp motion, then his grip stiffens. Something is plucked from my shoulder, bringing a burning pain that doesn’t fade.

It’s hard to breathe. I can barely see. My pulse… it’s so loud, but so slow.

I turn to face CheMIST again. He’s holding a small fang. I feel myself fall. I can’t see anything.

I hear CheMIST bellow Riptile’s name.

My heart stops.


	14. Chapter 14

The first thing I feel is hot acid in my veins. I can’t see straight. Everything is a kaleidoscope of blurred colors and motion. I try to move or speak, something to tell someone that everything hurts, but the only response is muted screaming.

Something stabs my chest. A burning cold crushes my heart before forcing itself outward, washing away the acid. I hear my heart beat; it’s fast and heavy.

There is stillness for some time, then my back hits something solid. I think I’ve been dropped on the ground. Or have I fallen?

“Doctor Conner?”

Soldier?

“What did you do to him?”

Why is he so far away? Or is that just me?

“Riptile. The antivenin is working through his system. He will be fine.”

Hearing CheMIST drags up my awareness. I see grey walls, feel the chilly air, smell blood and disinfectant, hear my pulse.

My shoulder hurts. So does my head. And my chest.

I can only hear my pulse. It’s slowing. Calming. I decide to focus on breathing. In, out; nose, mouth.

Is there… something on my head? I feel small feet. Then hear a familiar trill.

I open my eyes. There’s an iguana nose about an inch from mine. “Trill?”

The little guy blinks at me and tilts his head. I sit up, letting him siddle down into my hand, “Hey, there, buddy. What ‘cha doing here?” I look around the room. “Uh, where is ‘here’?”

Trill hops off my hand, clambers up the wall, and vanishes through an air vent near the ceiling. I stand under said vent, trying to listen for the skitter-skatter of little lizard feet. The responding silence reminds me that my shoulder still hurts. I reach my other hand around, feeling that the site of whatever punctured my shoulder is bandaged.

What exactly happened? I remember CheMIST pulling what looked like a tooth from me. Then he mentioned Riptile.

Wait. Did that lizard bite me when he dragged me off to CheMIST’s lab?

The side-effects I felt added up; even a drop of Riptile’s venom made his victim’s heart shut down, and larger doses literally made the organ explode.

Did I hear CheMIST mention antivenin? I pulled the front of my shirt down, finding the puncture wound of a rather large needle right over my heart. Guess the antivenin had to be injected directly into it to be effective.

Well, at least my pulse was quiet and steady.

Oh stars, what about Soldier? Is he okay? I spot a small window in the door to my cell. Peering through, I see a hallway running horizontally to my cell, no one in sight. “Hello?” I call.

“Trevor?” Soldier’s voice says from behind the wall beside me. I stare at the wall in shock. “S-Soldier?” I approach the wall and lay a hand on it, “Wait, are you really-?”

“Yes,” he affirms, his voice slightly muffled by the wall between us, “Yes, we’ve been put in adjacent cells, I believe to stay.”

“Why?”

I hear Soldier huff, “Because it was the third time you’ve been accosted by the villains and CheMIST no longer trusts Riptile so you’ve been moved where only CheMIST can access you.”

I take a moment to process the run-on sentence. “Ah.”

Silence falls for a few moments. “So,” I draw the word out, “What’s happened? Last thing I remember is passing out after putting you back together.”

“Pfha!”

I can’t say I’ve ever heard a sound like that from Soldier.

“I wish I could tell you. All I’ve managed to gather is that Riptile accidentally bit you and CheMIST got mad about it.”

My brow lowered, “What about you? Are you okay?”

“You’re nearby, so yes.”

I scoff and chuckle.

“Did I say something wrong?” Soldier asks.

“No, I just… you mentioned that before, that having me around helps you, but I still don’t know how.”

I hear Soldier hum in thought. “Well… hm. Do you know what zero-point energy is? At least, the concept of it?”

“Isn’t it some kind of quantum energy? Like, being able to draw energy from a vacuum?”

“Yes. How I gain my strength is somewhat explained by that.” Soldier chuckles, “To be quite honest, I don’t know what the scientific explanation is, but the closest I’ve come is zero-point. Or, I suppose, if you wish to go a bit more fictional, the Force could also explain it, as nebulous as that concept is.”

I laugh, “Ha! What, the Force? Seriously?”

“Well, it seems to be a concept you understand!” Soldier counters.

“I know, I know,” I reply, still giggling, “I just find it funny you know those movies.”

Soldier pauses, “There are movies?”

His question catches me off-guard. “Uh, y-yeah, there are. Wait, then how did you learn of it?”

“I, uh, read over the shoulder of a boy who was reading a comic book.”

Perhaps it is the lack of good humor in my life lately, but I find that hysterical. I break into a giggle fit that has me on the floor and hugging my sides as I make noises not unlike those of a dying whale for a solid two minutes.

Even after my laughter starts to subside, I stay seated against the wall, massaging my sides.

“Are you quite all right?” Soldier asks.

“Yes,” I chuckle, “...ow.”

“‘Ow’?”

“My sides hurt, is all,” I say, still grinning like an idiot and chuckling every few seconds.

“Your sides hurt?”

“Yes.”

“From laughing?”

“Yeah.”

I hear the question mark pop up. “Huh. I thought laughing was supposed to be a good thing.”

“It is!”

“Then why does it hurt you?”

I bark another laugh, “It’s just because we tense up. The bigger the laugh, the more people are likely to end up being sore afterward. It’s why there’s the phrase ‘rolling on the floor’, because some people laugh so hard they can’t stay upright.”

“That… still sounds counterintuitive.”

“Eh, maybe it is,” I agree, “Though you get to be around people enough, you find that we’re full of counterintuitive things.” I inhale sharply, “Especially in our politics.”

Soldier groans and I hear a dull thud that I assume is his head hitting the wall, “Let’s not go there.”

I laugh again. The silence settles once more, but for once, I don’t feel so alone. The peace is broken by the thought of someone I had almost forgotten about. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Cass.”

“...oh.”

I sag against the wall, “I hope she’s okay.”

“Last I knew,” Soldier began slowly, “she was taken to your old cell up top. From what little I could tell, she seemed okay. Was fighting Riptile’s hold on her, though. Could hear the bluestreak from here.”

My eyes widened, “She was cussing out the lizard?”

“Yes, she was,” said Soldier, sounding like he had a very smug grin.

“Huh! Well, good for her!”

I yawn, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Apparently Soldier hears it, “Get some rest, Trevor. I imagine we’ll be back to business as usual tomorrow.”

“And the day after that,” I grumble. My hand drags through my hair, “And the day after that, and so on until one of us dies.”

“Stop that,” Soldier snaps, “That kind of thinking really _will_ get you killed.” I hear him sigh and his tone softens, “Don’t give up hope just yet. We’ll get out of here. We and Cass.”

“I hope you’re right.” I curl up on the floor and blink away the threatening tears, fighting off the creeping despair, “Stars, I hope you’re right.”


	15. Chapter 15

I pace my cell, awaiting when CheMIST inevitably collects me. Soldier had been dragged off a few hours ago. 

My footsteps are the only thing I hear, but my brain is so overrun with thoughts, I don’t register the sound. If my mental calculations are correct, I’ve been prisoner for three months, give or take a week. Cass has been here for about eight weeks. 

And we’re still no closer to freedom. 

I did ask about Cass two days ago. CheMIST shut me up by saying that if I asked again, she would end up in worse shape than what she is now. 

I didn’t press further. Ron was enough; I didn’t want to lose his wife now. 

I have a feeling CheMIST knows that. 

My pacing stops and I lean against a wall. “Soldier, you keep saying not to give up hope and that we’re going to escape, but I’m finding that harder and harder to believe.” 

Time passes and I start getting tired of my pacing, so I resort to sitting against the wall. I listen to the silence for a while, urging my anxiety down. Five minutes feel like an eternity before I hear the lock on the door being fiddled with. 

I sigh. Well, there’s the inevitable. I hear the lock click and I start to my feet. The door swings open and I’m greeted by a dark figure. 

A man, dressed in black, motorbike body armor and a dark-visored helmet, stands across the threshold. We regard each other for a few seconds before the stranger lifts a hand to me, his palm out. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he states, his voice deep and warbled from a voice changer, “I’m here to get you out of here.” 

I scoff, not believing him, “A rescue? You’re kidding me.” 

The man’s helmeted head shakes, “Not kidding. Here,” he hands me my gun and an extra magazine, “You need to find Soldier. Head up when you do.” 

Adrenaline starts crashing through my body, making my limbs buzz with excitement. I take my gun and feel empowered by its weight in my hand. I follow the Rescue man into the hall, about to ask if he knew where Soldier was, but he interrupted me. 

“Where’s your old cell?” 

My head tilts, “My old-? Up top, on a rocky ledge. It might be suspended in a cloud, though.” 

Rescue nods once and heads off. 

A bit confused by his urgency but not going to let my good fortune go to waste, I take off in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the complex to CheMIST’s lab. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked me all the way there and back these past days. 

I let my attention slip for a few moments to consider the mystery man. Why I decided to call him ‘Rescue’ so spontaneously was beyond me. I do realize he must be going to get Cass, then maybe rendezvous with us at the top. 

Realizing I’m only a few doors away from CheMIST’s lab, I shake myself back to awareness. I’ll have the element of surprise, but only for so long; I need to be smart about it. 

I slip through the first atrium of the lab, careful not to knock into any of the fragile beakers. I have no idea what could be in them, but I’m not too keen on accidentally discovering if one is highly explosive. 

Crossing the room with no trouble, I hesitate at the door to the main lab. ‘Lab’, it barely deserved that title. ‘Torture chamber’ was more like it. 

I shake my head. Focus, Trevor. Don’t screw this up. You screw this up, you’re dead. 

Wow, that doesn’t help my nerves. 

I take a deep breath and listen for anything that may mask my presence when I open the door. A few seconds pass, then I hear what I assume is the machine hum to life. A second later, I hear Soldier let out an agonized shriek. 

The sound gives the mask I need and bolsters my anger; I open the door, level my gun at the first thing that moves, and fire. Riptile roars, rearing back and clutching his shot-out eye. 

The lizard distracted, I point the gun at CheMIST. The scientist is just standing there, entirely unfazed. I look between him and the strung-up Soldier, the latter wheezing and in obvious pain. I glare at CheMIST, “Release him.” 

CheMIST smiles at me. “And how, dear Doctor, will you make me?” He straightens himself and folds his hands behind his back, “You are in _my_ lab, under _my_ power. I can kill you a hundred and fifty ways in the span of two seconds, if I wished.” 

Is… is he monologuing? 

“Furthermore, your greatest chance of getting out of here,” CheMIST turns and gestures at Soldier, “is helpless and at my mercy.” 

He is definitely monologuing. 

“So I ask again, Doctor Conner,” CheMIST hisses, “How exactly will you make me comply to your demand?” 

“Maybe you should be asking what I’m aiming at.” I fire my gun, the bullet having ample time to be aimed correctly thanks to CheMIST’s little spiel. 

The mercury vein on the machine shatters. Liquid metal spews into the air. I put a few more bullets into the machine as I approach it, hoping I can hit something important. Sparks fly and smoke starts streaming from the metal shell. I hear CheMIST saying something about chemicals and sensitive equipment, but I’m more focused on getting Soldier down. 

Thankfully, Soldier is able to get himself down. He breaks away from the restraints on his limbs and flops to the floor. “Soldier?” I ask, trying to help him up, “Soldier, are you okay?” 

A weak groan is the only response. 

CheMIST isn’t paying attention to me and Riptile is still writhing in pain, so I set my gun down and pull Soldier to his knees. Without warning, Soldier reaches up and presses his hand against my chest. I feel like air is dragged right out of my lungs. My vision blurs and for a few moments, all I hear is my heartbeat. 

Then the world snaps back into focus and I can breathe again. I take a step back from Soldier, “What did you just-” 

“I am sorry for not warning you,” Soldier says, rising to his feet, “I borrowed some of your strength.” 

“Oh, is _that_ why I feel like I’ve just sprinted a quarter mile?” 

“Focus, Trevor, we still have foes to face.” 

Riptile is now snarling at us, his army of reptiles seeming to spawn straight out of the walls. Soldier charges forward, his eyes alight with held-back heat, and drives the lizard through the wall. 

I get the acute feeling someone is behind me. I dive for my gun, scooping it up and turning to face CheMIST when I’m met with a blow to the head that sends me sprawling. I black out for an instant, coming to just as I hit the floor. I do manage to hold onto my gun. 

Dazed and my ears ringing, I drag myself to my knees and elbows, trying to clear my head. 

“Trevor Conner,” I hear the furious voice of CheMIST above me, “Do you have any notion of the work you have irrevocably ruined?” 

“I’ll r’in more ‘f it b’fore I’m done wi- you,” I slur. Not exactly the bold declaration I was hoping for. My head clears. I stand and fire two rounds at CheMIST, but he slides around me and instantly envelops the room in thick fog. From it, he keeps taunting me. “You have no idea what I am capable of. I can put you in Soldier’s place to find out, if you wish.” 

“Think I’ll pass.” I search and listen for any sign of the scientist, but the fog, coupled with the fact he's a pale person wearing a white lab coat and could apparently move like a cat made for some effective camouflage. 

He does love to talk; maybe I can coax him, “That machine, it was pretty impressive.” 

“Yes, the better part of a year went into its construction.” 

He sounds closer. 

“Imagine how proud I was when that great mechanism served its purpose so flawlessly.” 

Closer. “Its purpose of torture?” I growl. 

“ _Exploration_ ,” he corrected me. “Exploration of the limits of Soldier’s biology.” 

“So just a little side hobby of yours, then?” 

“Oh yes.” 

He is very close now. 

“I have done so many explorations of normal humans that I had gotten quite bored. Now, though,” his voice turns sinister, “I know exactly the limits the human can and cannot sustain.” 

I spot motion and fire at it. The fog rears back, showing CheMIST holding his left hand, a bullet hole blown clean through it. CheMIST looks at me. 

Oh, if looks could kill. 

In an instant, the fog vanishes and CheMIST slams me against the wall. My gun clatters to the ground and stars dance before my eyes from the blow. Before I know what’s happening, my feet are off the ground via a hand around my throat, and something’s being forced into my lungs. 

Pressure builds in my skull. The pressure turns into heat. Then pain. Pain that erupts into unbearable agony. Agony that tears apart every nerve in my body. The world fades; nothing else exists but that pain. I see white, I hear screaming I don’t recognize as my own. 

Then it ends. As quickly as the pain started, it ends. I hear a heavy thud followed by a crash, feel myself fall, then feel an arm lifting me up. 

“Trevor?” 

I only manage a hoarse groan. Is that blood on my tongue? 

“I think you need this more than me.” 

I feel a hand over my heart. Strength floods back into my body and I stand, seeing Soldier beside me looking tired, but relieved. 

I look down at myself, “Did you just-” 

He interrupts me, “Yes. Let’s get out of here.” 

I have no argument so we turn to a newly-made hole in the wall, only pausing long enough for me to grab my gun. Soldier glances into the atrium full of lab equipment and laser-eyes the whole room, sending it up in multi-colored flames. 

Soldier’s x-ray vision guiding us, we eventually run into the mystery man who set off this whole thing. Soldier tenses up, ready to fight, but I stop him. “Soldier, don’t. He’s the one who let me go.” 

“It’s true,” Rescue states, “Come on, I know a shortcut to the top.” 

We take off at a brisk run. “Hey,” I direct at Rescue, “Did you get to the woman up top?” 

Rescue doesn’t look back, “Yes. She’s waiting for us in the elevator.” 

Then Soldier notices something I don’t. “Is that coolant on your gloves?” 

“Yes.” Rescue stops at an intersection, referring to a map on his gauntlet HUD, “I may have ‘accidentally’ ruined the central power core.” 

“Wait, let me guess,” I said, “It’s going to explode.” 

“In about fifteen minutes, yes,” Rescue confirms. The building rumbles. “Though that’s a rough estimate,” he adds. The black-clad man points down the hall to the left, “This way. Come on.” 

I can safely say I’ve never seen this part of the building before. It makes me wonder just how big this facility is. The floor rumbles again and the ceiling buckles over us. 

“Watch out!” Rescue calls, throwing up his hands. Something distorts the air and shoves most of the debris away, though I instinctively jump back and end up on the wrong side of the now-barricaded hallway. 

“Trevor?” Soldier calls. 

“I’m alright!” 

“I can’t move this debris,” says Soldier. 

I glance at the hall behind me, “I’ll be fine, just keep going! I’ll meet you up top!” 

“Good luck,” Rescue offers. 

I hum and take off the way we came. Two turns later, I’m lost. Soldier wasn’t kidding when he said this place was a labyrinth. 

Then a familiar trill echoes from a nearby vent. A moment later, Trill pops out of the vent and jumps to the floor. He chirps at me and bounces on his front feet. 

“Hey, little buddy!” I smile, crouching to the iguana. Trill chirps and squeaks at me. “I need to get up to the top,” I explain, “Do you know a way up?” 

Trill performs an enthused spin and takes off down the hallway. I run after him, finding it infinitely enjoyable to be escaping a ticking time bomb of a lab by following an iguana. 

Just a few minutes of running later, Trill and I turn down the home stretch to an elevator. He takes off at a speed I never thought possible for something so small and hits the call button on the wall. I’m halfway there when the door opens. Trill scrambles inside and trills at me to cheer me on. 

Something flies over my shoulder and strikes the call button again. The elevator doors start to close. Trill lets out a squeak and moves to block the doors, but another object knocks him back. 

The doors close. I hit the wall, stuck outside. I turn and draw my gun. A rather rough-looking CheMIST stands in the middle of the hall, surrounded by red and gold mist that unfurls behind him and moves as if alive. 

“You will pay dearly for this,” CheMIST declares. 

I put a bullet into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. I fire again. He takes a step forward. I continue firing, but CheMIST simply walks straight through them, unaffected, not even bleeding. My gun clicks, bullets spent. I hurry to load the other magazine, chamber a round, and lift the barrel to CheMIST again. 

CheMIST lifts his left hand, now with a very clear hole through the palm, and shoots that gold mist at me. The slightest whiff makes my limbs stiffen, as if my muscles are turning to rusted metal. I inhale more and freeze up completely. CheMIST replaces the gold with the red, not waiting for me to inhale it and forcing it straight into me. 

A warping red haze crossed my vision. I feel myself move, but I’m no longer in control. My legs buckle and I collapse to my knees. Kneeling before CheMIST, my hand lifts up my gun. Panic begins to overtake me as I realize it’s turning the barrel toward my own head. The metal presses against my temple. My finger tenses around the trigger.

The building heaves and I hear a subsonic boom. 

CheMIST turns. “Not the core!” Smoke envelops him before he seemingly vanishes. 

Control returns to my body. I pull the gun away from my head and stand. My legs are still shaky, making me stagger against the elevator doors. With shaking hands, I set the safety on my gun. Just in case. 

Ready for this nightmare to be over, I haphazardly punch the elevator button. The doors eventually slide open and I’m greeted by Trill once more. I offer him a pat on the head as I step into the elevator. “Hey buddy. Thanks for saving my spot.” 

Trill squeaks. He climbs up the wall and hits a button. A brief ride later, the doors open and I’m once again chasing an iguana down the halls. The turns start to become familiar, and we emerge at the top of the complex. 

“Trevor!” 

I turn toward Soldier’s voice. He’s on a catwalk in the side of the cavern wall. He waves me over, pointing to the access ladder. “Hurry!” 

Trill now perched on my shoulders, I clamber the ladder as fast as I can and sprint down the rickety catwalk. At the end is the elevator. Cass, Rescue, and Soldier are already inside. 

The earth shudders again and a boulder comes crashing down on the end of the catwalk, leaving a gap too wide for me to reach the elevator. If I try to jump and miss, the drop to the rocks below is fatal. I stop in my tracks, watching as the elevator, my only way to freedom, began to rise away from me. Soldier crouches and holds his hand out to me, “Jump!” 

“I can’t make that!” I counter. 

Rescue crouches at Soldier’s side and spreads his hands in front of him, “Just jump! Trust us!” 

“You’re insane!” I shout, my voice cracking. 

“You don’t have another option!” Rescue calls back. “Just jump!” 

I set my jaw and start running again, gaining as much speed as I can before I reach the end of the catwalk. At the last possible second, I plant my feet and jump. 

Something under me lifts sharply, spring boarding me into the air. I see Rescue make a pulling motion and it’s as if the air itself pushes me upward again. 

Soldier grabs my wrist. I swing in his grasp, but he holds onto me. With a great heave, I’m lifted into the elevator. I lie on the floor, breathing heavily. 

“Nice jump,” Soldier says. 

I offer a chuckle but am too tired from the crashing adrenaline to muster up any words. 

“And you,” Soldier says to Rescue, “Thank you for helping us. We are in your debt.” 

Rescue nods, though he seems more interested in Cass. She appears quite pale and shaken, and readily accepts the offered hug from Rescue. I hear him softly shush her and say she was going to be okay. 

The few blissful moments of peace are interrupted by another explosion. The elevator shudders and struggles to keep moving. I hear metal rend. The elevator drops several inches. Rescue shields a now-frantic Cass, “It’s being thrown off the rail!” 

Soldier lifts his head, his eyes glowing a soft white from his x-ray vision. “The top of the mountain isn’t far up. I could fly us up, but-” he turns to me, “-I’ll need a boost.” 

I nod and stand, “Do it.” 

Soldier’s hand sets over my heart, “This will be quite draining.” 

“Just get us out of here.” 

I feel strength drain from my body. Soldier’s features become stronger and determined. He lets go and I have to sit down, feeling utterly exhausted. 

Soldier lifts off the ground and punches through the roof of the elevator, grabbing the edges and using the leverage to lift the whole thing up. We start rising faster than before, and I realize we’re heading straight for the cavern ceiling. 

“You there!” Soldier calls, getting Rescue’s attention, “Break us out of here!” 

“Gladly!” Rescue responds, holding his hands together for a moment before shoving a ball of energy upward. At the last moment, he spreads his hands apart in a tearing motion and I see the air distort, as if bolts of transparent lightning struck. 

The roof of the cavern fragments, showering down rocks, dust, and metal support beams. Rescue spreads up his hands again and the air distorts in a blanket, giving the appearance of heat waves. The debris harmlessly bounces off this barrier and we soon rose into the clear dusk air. 

Rescue lowers his hands and notices me staring at him. 

“You can make energy barriers?” I ask. 

Rescue nods. I can tell in his slacking posture and heaving chest that his powers must be tiring. He goes back to comforting Cass. 

“I need to set this down,” Soldier declares. No sooner are the words out of this mouth that the ground comes rushing up at us. 

“Brace yourself!” Rescue warns, getting in front of me and Cass and raising a shield. It takes most of the impact, though all three of us are sent tumbling a few feet out onto the forest floor. 

I hear the metal cage of the elevator clatter down, followed by Soldier landing heavily. Rescue is still holding onto Cass, so I check on Soldier. “Soldier? You okay?” 

He glances around at the forest surrounding us. He smiles, “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” He stands and turns away from me. Spreading his arms and inhaling deeply, Soldier’s feet lift off the ground and I feel a strange pull from the air around me, drawing into Soldier.

Of course, he draws his strength from living things! This forest was like a battery for him! I watch, slightly in awe, as the weakened and tired being I’d become so familiar with these past months turns regains the powerful strength of the hero people so admired. 

“I… needed that,” he says softly, setting himself back on the ground and turning back to me, “It will take a bit longer for me to recover completely, but I dare say this is a good start.” 

“You look like you’re feeling much better,” I confirm. 

“And I can return this.” Soldier lays a hand on my shoulder and I feel energy flood back into my system. 

A rumble vibrates the ground under my feet. I turn and gaze through the trees at the hill we’ve managed to find ourselves on. 

“Is the lab still exploding?” Cass asks. 

Rescue nods, “I think so.” 

She looks back at Rescue, “Just how big is it?” 

“Heh… _big_ ,” is his only response. 

“Are we a safe distance away?” I ask. 

Soldier stares through the ground. “I don’t think so.” He looks at the three of us, “Can you still run?” 

Cass’s voice squeaks, “Can’t you fly us?” 

“Cass,” Rescue chides. 

Soldier waves it off, but shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. I haven’t recharged yet.” 

“Then borrow me again,” I suggest. 

“If I do that too many times, it can kill you.” 

Rescue takes Cass by the hand, “Running it is, then.” 

Aided by gravity, we take off through the woods. The ground emits more threatening rumbles. We cover a good distance, though it’s not far enough when the lab exploded out the top of the mountain. 

“Shockwave!” Rescue warns, turning behind Cass and bracing up a shield. Soldier shoves me into a crouch and shields me with his body. The shockwave strikes, staggering Rescue and Soldier. The shield and the hero take the brunt of the push, but the sound still rattles our ears. 

Once it passes, we all start looking up. 

Something large and metal barrels down the hill toward us, heading straight for Cass. Rescue notices it first. “Cass!” he cried. He shoves her out of the way and lifts another shield, but the object is too heavy. It smashes through Rescue’s shield and strikes him across the head. 

I gasp as the side of his helmet shatters and he falls to the ground. Cass screams and rushes to Rescue’s side. Soldier and I do as well. Rescue’s face is turned away from me, and Cass is making desperate work to take off his helmet. 

I help her, gently easing the broken helmet off his head and revealing his face. 

Shock sinks through me. 

No. It… it can’t be. 

The helmet slips out of my hands. 

But it made sense. The way Cass was so trusting of him, the way he was so protective of her…. 

It can’t… but it has to be… 

“Ron?”

Cass gently cups his face, she herself on the verge of tears. “Honey, wake up, please. C’mon, Baby, please wake up.”

I’m still too shocked to move. Soldier crouches and sweeps Ron’s body with his x-ray vision. “Nothing’s broken,” Soldier assures, “though he may have a concussion or whiplash.”

Ron begins to stir. Cass sighs with relief, “Ron? Ron, you’re okay, baby.”

Ron’s hand clumsily reaches for her hand, “Hey, I’m okay. We’re okay.” His hand cups her cheek and she hugs him. Then she and Soldier help him sit up. Ron groans and rubs the back of his head, “Ugh, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Cass gently turns Ron’s face toward her and the two touch foreheads. “I thought I’d never see you again,” Cass whimpers. Ron quietly shushes her, “It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

The couple takes comfort in hugging each other, then Cass pulls Ron close and kisses him. Ron returns it, holding his wife protectively.

I turn away, a bit embarrassed.

A deep groan rolls through the forest. Soldier clears his throat, “I hate to interrupt, but there’s still a part of the lab that has yet to explode, so we’d better get going.”

Ron and Cass pull away from each other. “It’s _still_ exploding?” Cass exclaims.

“Fortunately,” Soldier affirms, “I believe I can now fly us off this mountain.”

“Yeah, and after that,” I point at Ron, “You’re going to explain how you’re still alive.”

Ron chuckles nervously. Cass looks up at him, “Ron? There’s also something I need to tell you.”

“Ah, maybe after we’re off this landmine?” Ron suggests. He looks to Soldier, “I can make a platform for us to stand on; will that work for you?”

Soldier nods and Ron does as he said. Within a few moments, we’re flying above the trees. I glance to Ron, who has his face set in concentration. “You’re an Altered?”

Ron casts a side-glance at me, looking apologetic, “Yeah, I am. And before you ask, I never told anyone because I never needed to. Up until now, I’ve only used my powers once.”

“But Cass knew?”

Cass cocks an eyebrow at me, “He’s my husband.” She smiles at Ron and squeezes his shoulder, “Told me right before he proposed.”

Ron smiles back at her, then looks to me, “I needed to know if she was going to marry me for being normal, or for being me.”

Cass pecks him on the cheek, “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

The rest of the mountain blows up. The incoming pressure wave distorts the air and sends a wave through the trees below. In the second before it hits us, Soldier drops the platform and hugs us to himself, turning his back to the shockwave.

It hits hard and I hear Cass scream.

The rumbling gradually fades, and Soldier’s hold on us loosens. “Ron, get the platform back up,” Soldier asks. Ron does so and Soldier lowers us to the ground. “Sorry,” says Soldier, sounding winded, “I need a minute.”

I nod, “It’s all right. Thanks for getting us out of there.”

Soldier dips his head at me, then takes off back toward the forest.

I point at Ron. “You. Being alive. Explain.”

Ron takes a seat on the ground and explains.

Apparently, the villains hadn’t touched him at all; they’d just let him go, ‘their big mistake’ according to Ron, intending for him to spread the word that Soldier had been defeated. He didn’t, ‘obviously’, and instead went home to see what he could do about finding their hideout again.

In the meantime, my absence was noticed at the hospital. Since Ron hadn’t been missing long enough to concern authorities, nor did he have any helpful information about where the villains might be, he faked not remembering what happened after ‘something broke into the house and attacked us’. He told the hospital that he didn’t know what happened to me.

There was an investigation at my house, cops finding the broken window, spatters of blood that wasn’t human, a few reptilian scales, and bullet holes. The cops came to the conclusion that one of Riptile’s spawn got in and, unfortunately, I was eaten.

Ron played along with me being declared dead and kept trying to track down the hideout.

The city didn’t miss Soldier, since he was known to only appear if there was supervillain trouble, which didn’t actually happen once a week, so the fact that he hadn’t been seen for half a month didn’t raise any questions.

Time passed and Cass was taken. From Ron’s witness of it, the cops told him she was a lost cause.

The next month and a half, Ron found the hideout and put a plan together to break in and break us out. He donned the body armor and helmet to hide his identity from the villains more so than us.

“And the rest,” Ron says, “Is history.”

I take a moment to process everything. After considering it all, I have one question, “Why did the villains let me believe they killed you?”

Ron shrugs, but then Cass answers. “They told me why. It was to make you afraid. Give them power over you. When it started to wear off, they took me.”

Ron hugs his wife again. “Honey, I’m okay,” Cass assures, “They never hurt me.”

“But they took you from me,” Ron mutters into the top of her head, “That hurt me.”

Cass mumbles and leans her head against Ron’s shoulder, hugging him with one arm and her belly with the other. “Ron, I’m-”

Soldier interrupts her as he flies back to us. I notice a familiar iguana in his hands. “Trill?” I ask. The little guy had fallen off my shoulder sometime when I leaped into the elevator. Guess he survived.

Soldier smiles at the lizard, “Is that his name?”

Trill trills. He then hops out of Soldier’s hand and sidles up my body to perch on my head. He’s immediately the center of attention, with both Cass and Ron reaching up to pet him. I eye Soldier, “Is everything okay?”

Soldier glances toward the trees, then us, “There’s some kind of radiation leaking into the air. This area might not be very safe.”

Ron’s brow furrows, “We’re an awful long way from town.”

Soldier lifts a finger, “But not from my place,” he says with a smile.

Ron perks up, “Oh my gosh, you have a secret base?”

“Ron,” Cass says.

“What? That’s cool!”

“You’re fanboying,” she smirks.

“So?”

I roll my eyes, “Regardless, we do need to get somewhere out of these woods. It’s getting dark.”

“Right.” Ron rubs his hands together and spreads them at the ground, “One energy platform, coming right up.”

We fly for about five minutes, then pass right through the side of a cliff, the rock face an illusion. A tunnel leading deep into the rock opens up into a magnificent cavern.

It was like flying into another world. A stream flows through the bottom, and the numerous rock shelves spread along the walls house various alien technologies and structures. Some kind of glowing crystal fills the cavern with warm light, and strange bugs flit around us. Trill tries to eat one, but promptly spits it out. Some unseen creature hoots at us from the ceiling of the cavern.

“Welcome to my little corner of the world,” Soldier says. “Everything you see is from my homeworld. It took quite some time for it grow, but once the roots took, you can see that it began to flourish.”

So it really was another world.

Soldier sets us down and we three humans continue to gawk at what we see.

“If this is just a glimpse of it,” Ron marvels, “I can’t imagine how beautiful the rest of your planet is.”

“It was quite beautiful,” Soldier affirms.

“’Was’?” Cass asked.

Soldier’s expression drops, “I’m... honestly not sure. There was a terrible crisis and... our authorities ordered an evacuation. I don’t know if my planet still stands or not.”

Cass smiles sadly and takes Soldier’s hand, “Well, whatever happened, you’re welcome on ours.”

Soldier nods to her, “Thank you.” He then spread his arms and adds, “You are welcome here. Feel free to look around. But I must warn you, some of these plants you see are a bit... snappy. And don’t drink from the stream.”

My gaze instantly drops to the lightly glowing, purple-tinted water below us. Ron asked the question I thought, “What’s in the water?”

“It’s an algae from my world. It’s warm to the touch and even has some healing properties, but does not mix well with the human digestive system.”

I cock an eyebrow, “We talking, like, stomachache ‘does not mix well’, or...”

“It, uh,” Soldier rubs the back of his neck, “mixes with the digestive juices and proteins in the intestines and reacts to form a substance that spontaneously combusts.”

There are a few moments of disturbed silence.

“Okay, don’t drink the water,” Ron repeats.

Soldier laughs awkwardly, then looks to me, “If I could borrow you for a moment,” he shows his as-of-then hidden arm with a long gash down the length of it, “I may need your services one more time.”

My eyes widen at the wound, “What the- how did-! You know what, never mind. Where can I treat that?”

Soldier motions with his head. I follow him up four steps to a higher rock shelf. Ron and Cass move farther down the previous shelf to sit beside each other, within sightline but out of earshot. Trill had skittered off earlier in search of something to eat.

Soldier hands me a few tools I recognize as surgical, but made out a material I didn’t recognize. “Alien surgical tools,” I muse.

“Indeed,” Soldier smiles. He sits on a carved crystal formation and rolls back his sleeve, and I get to work.

A few stitches in, I laugh.

“What is it?” Soldier asks.

“Ironic. Or... poetic, maybe. This all started with you in my home, asking me to stitch you up, and now I’m in your home, doing the same thing.”

“I suppose,” Soldier says with a slow nod. He glances toward Ron and Cass, who are having some conversation. Soldier smiles, “I told you Ron would make you proud when the time came.”

I laugh again in agreement, “Yeah, I should... give him a promotion or something.”

“No need-.”

Ron suddenly exclaims. “What? You are?!”

Cass nods, holding Ron’s hand to her belly. “Ten weeks.”

Ron stands, “You’re serious?!”

Cass smiles and nods again.

“Aw, Babe!” Ron lifts his wife up and spins her around, “ _YES!!!_ ”

Soldier chuckles and side-eyes me. “I think earning the title of ‘expectant father’ is promotion enough.” 


	16. EPILOGUE

Far below the debris that was once a lab, a figure moves. He had tried to prevent the core from exploding, but instead was caught at the epicenter of the blast. He had tried to use his mists to protect him. They saved his life, but at a cost.

Now he looks much akin to the Grim Reaper itself. Patchy remains of blackened skin cling to pale bone. His white coat is now vantablack. His lower body is disintegrated, replaced by writhing masses of quantum sludge and mist. Through his left palm is a torn and jagged hole.

His mind is broken. Once abuzz with brilliant and sinister calculations and experiments, it is now silent except for one desire.

The figure lifts itself upright, slowly bobbing on the undistinguished, melted masses that now made his legs. His hands lifted and a black haze leaked from his fingers, atomizing everything around him. He no longer controlled mist, but dark matter.

He liked the sound of that. Dark Matter. He would use that name to fulfill the one desire that now consumes the entirety of his conscious thoughts.

Kill Trevor Conner.


End file.
